


DIY Happiness

by deinvati



Series: DIY Series [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Minor Character Death, No Spoilers, Post-Season/Series 03, Puppies, Sexual Content, The start of something beautiful, Why aren't you watching Peaky Blinders yet?, because duh, it's amazing, it's fic, pet death, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year later:<br/>Alfie's had a rough day.  Mabel had plans for the evening, but is it enough to pull him out of his funk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DIY Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> YOU GUYS!! [MORE ART, MORE ART!!](http://pornbunnyfarm.com/files/deivanti%20commission.jpg)
> 
> By the lovely and beautiful [Marourin](http://marourin.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art), whom I adore wholeheartedly, and who saw Mabel as I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on the adventures of Mabel and Alfie...
> 
> :D

Mabel heard Alfie at the front door and held her breath.  Abe had told her before she'd left for the day that she might want to make herself scarce tonight.  Apparently it had been a bad run-in with the Shelbys and he was in a black mood. 

"Screaming his fool head off, huh?" she teased.  But Abe didn't laugh.  He looked...grim.

"No.  He's not saying anything, actually."  Abe slowly replaced his hat and let himself out of her office, his eyes on the floor.  Mabel frowned.  Alfie was dangerous when he was silent, and she wondered if maybe she should put off her plans for the evening.  She'd decided against it, but now she worried the fabric of her dress between her fingers and hoped it was the right decision.  She rose from the sofa, and the puppy she'd been playing with bounded down and raced to greet the stranger at the door.

Alfie's blank mask blinked into a look of surprise, then was quickly replaced with a fierce scowl. "Well, what do we have here?" he growled, bending down to scratch the pup, with a softer touch than his voice suggested.  The puppy squirmed with delight and tried to lick every scrap of skin she could reach.  Alfie's face softened, almost against his will.  "Hello, love, where the hell did you come from?" he said quietly.  He picked up the tiny, caramel-coated pit bull puppy and nestled it into the crook of his arm.  His eyes sought Mabel's, hard and questioning.  "What is this?"  His voice was flinty and unflinching.  

"She was going to be put down.  The owner said he couldn't handle so many puppies and she was the smallest, so she was going to go first..." Mabel felt herself babbling and forced herself to stop. "But she's healthy...and she's just a little bit sassy."  She swallowed and offered him a tiny smile.  "Do you like her?" She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn't mind too much that she'd expanded their tiny family without asking and added responsibilities onto his already full plate, not to mention hers as well.  

"Doesn't seem to matter what I like or don't like, yeah?" 

Mabel felt her heart sink. 

His gruff voice was focused on the pup in his arm, running his fingers over velvety ears as a tiny tongue tried to lick his wrist.  "What's her name?"

"She doesn't have one.  Yet."  Mabel held her breath again.  

Alfie frowned again, his mask firmly back in place.  Mabel could usually read him, at least enough to know when to cut and run, but she wasn't sure what was going on in his head now.  Maybe she should have asked Abe more about the Shelby meeting.  Maybe she should have waited to see how he was doing before--

"Peaches," he said and, finally, his lip quirked up, his smile small, tentative and fragile.  She smiled back, relieved.  He kissed the pup's head and carried her off towards the kitchen, murmuring nonsense against her fur.  In the doorway, he paused, his head still bent to the puppy's.  "Mmph.  I agree," she heard him grumble.  He turned and walked to where she was still standing in the living room, the fabric of her skirt caught unconsciously in between her fingertips.  Alfie slipped his free hand around her waist to press against the small of her back, his fingers splayed wide.  He pressed his lips to her forehead and held her there for a moment, the puppy, Peaches, squirming between them.  Then Mabel felt his shoulders relax a bit and she smiled, her eyelids slipping shut.  She was glad she hadn't waited, because even that grumpy bastard couldn't resist a wriggly puppy.  She watched him carry the puppy into the kitchen and putter around getting a bowl for Peaches and tearing pieces of the meal Rowena had left out for him into it, his low rumble never stopping.  His voice calmed the puppy and she watched him, her ears at rapt attention.  Mabel grinned, unable to stop the joy spreading from ear to ear.  He was on the floor of the kitchen, still wearing his hat and his greatcoat, the puppy's tail wiggling her entire back end as she jumped on him, tongue lolling. 

_"Nope, it's this moment.  This is the one I want to live in forever,"_ she thought.

Best birthday gift yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, SO many thanks to the lovely people who have read and commented on this story, you have inspired me to keep writing. I enjoy hearing from you fantastic folks, the community of support on this site is overwhelming. Truly, you are wonderful, and my now and future muse. Cheers!


	2. DIY Togetherness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Because Tom Hardy.

Mabel took the sleepy puppy from Alfie's lap and pulled his hand until he stood up. His scowl deepened, and he grunted with the effort, but he came willingly enough. She led him to the kitchen, where she'd placed a small crate in the corner by the stove and lined it with rags. It would be warm there, even on the coldest days and she set Peaches carefully on the cosy rags, who woke sleepily and started to whine, quiet and pitiful.

"Now, Mabel, can't we--" Alfie began, his loud voice startling in the muted room.

"Shh, shh, shh." Mabel pressed a finger to his lips, her mouth turned into a soft smile. She removed Alfie's braces and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his over shirt, enough to pull it over his head. He raised an eyebrow with a questioning smirk, but Mable just turned away from him and placed the fabric in the crate with Peaches. The pup immediately quieted, turned a few circles, and settled in the tiny Alfie-scented cocoon she'd made for herself. They both smiled at her yawn, Mabel widely and Alfie behind his moustache when he thought Mabel didn't see.

Mabel took his hand and pulled him with her again. She tended to have better results when she didn't explain what she was doing beforehand. She pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door so the steam wouldn't get out. She'd run a bath for him, skipping over the usual oils that she used in her own, the ones Alfie had bought for her from God-knows-where and spending God-knows-how-much on them, the ones that smelled like a warm, plump, juicy, summer day and transformed this beautiful room into her sanctuary. But she knew he'd tell her he didn't want that "frou-frou shite" in his bath water, which made her grin because she loved the way he inhaled her whenever she used it. She couldn't tell which one of them liked it more, actually.

Instead, she watched him eye the clear, steamy water and she finished undressing him. She dropped a few kisses on his warm skin, when she couldn't help herself, then she pushed him into the tub and pressed the grey, gritty lump of soap he usually used into his hand. He focused far too hard on lathering soap into his skin, scowling at the water and she undressed down to her chemise, a soft pink this time. She perched on the edge of the tub, slightly behind him and took the soap from his hand. She soaped his back, her fingers making strong circles in the suds, massaging out the tension there under the guise of "washing" him. Then she wet his hair and ran the bar of soap there too, her fingers working the lather in until she heard his soft sigh and saw his eyes slip closed. She massaged a little longer, just touching now, and quietly whispered, "Tell me."

"Mmph," Alfie grunted, his eyes still closed, his mouth still frowning. He was quiet for a few moments more, so she used the ewer next to the tub to rinse his hair and torso free of soap, then she moved and perched on the other side and faced him. She stroked his too-long beard, her fingers smoothing and combing hair away from his mouth, gently checking for damage and finding a fist-sized swelling, which she ghosted a kiss over. "Tell me," she said again, less room for argument this time.

Alfie sighed, his eyes still closed. He leant his head into hers, pressing almost too hard--she knew it must hurt where he'd been hit. He grunted, "Georgie's dead."

Ice water dumped in her veins, and she froze. "Oh, god," gasped out of her before she could stop it. She felt him stiffen and she surged forward, clinging to him, pulling his head against her and burying her fingers in his hair. She held on, feeling the droplets from his hair and face dampen her chemise and not caring the tiniest bit. She felt his shaky hand rise out of the water to skate over her thigh and hip and settle on her waist, his face hidden in her breasts, his breath gusting out harshly.

"I'm so sorry, Alfie," she whispered into his hair, her eyes shut tight against the tears she couldn't bear to let him see. He felt awful, it was obvious, he didn't need to comfort her too. She swallowed hard, then pulled back to look into his stormy eyes. He opened them reluctantly, and she saw the pain there, the pain he didn't let anyone else see. The pain of losing someone he trusted, a comfortable and competent ally, and a friend. "Oh, Alfie," she said, her heart breaking for him, "I'm so sorry."

"'S nothin'," he gritted out. "'S my fault, anyway. Nothin' for you to be sorry for."

"Of course it wasn't your fault!" Mabel cried indignantly. "Did you kill him?" At his silent scowl, she continued, "Of course you didn't, so it's not your fault."

He was silent, his eyes were distant, and he was closing himself off. Mabel could _see_ it. She could see the walls shuttering down, compartmentalising, terminating his feelings--never to be discussed again. And suddenly she just couldn't let it happen again. She had him, right there, letting her in and letting her see how much he cared, and she just couldn't let it go yet. She gripped his chin, hard.

"NO."

He blinked, confused, and tried to pull back but she gripped him harder. "This is not your fault, Alfie Solomons. You stop it right now. I want you to tell me that you know it's not your fault."

He smiled at her sadly, but he stayed where she'd put him. "Oh, love," he sighed. "'S too late for all that. I'm far past redemption."

She kissed him, her mouth a hard, determined line. "Not mine."

She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, brutally, hard and slicing, nipping until finally, he pushed back, fast, his wet hands surging out of the water to grip her hips and pull her into the tub, neither of them noticing the wave of water over the side. She moaned into the kiss as he swept in with his tongue, capturing her mouth while his hands devoured every inch of her skin. Her chemise was soaked in seconds and he just rubbed his wide hands over her sides, breasts, down her back and over the swell of her bum, pulling her knees on either side of him and locking her in place with his palms.

Alfie didn't give her a chance to change her mind about bathtub sex as his hands devoured her greedily. Her pink chemise clung to her, gathered up at the top of her thighs, the wet fabric transparent with the water. Her nipples were straining against the wet fabric, aching to be touched. She surged against his mouth, pulling him closer, rocking against his hard body. She could feel his erection against her and he ground his hips upwards making them both gasp. She struggled against him, with him, trying to remove her last scrap of clothing, before giving up and capturing his face between her hands again and kissing him, hot and open-mouthed. She sucked on his tongue when he thrust it into her mouth and he groaned. He buried his hands in her dark hair, knocking pins loose until the curls cascaded down her back, and she kissed him like she'd never see him again. Then he pushed the chemise up over her hips, the cloth bunching under his fingertips, baring her stomach and then her breasts. Then he broke the kiss to lift it over her arms and off, depositing it in a heap on the wet floor. He looked at her, admiring what he saw, dusky nipples and flushed skin. He leant down and her eyes closed in anticipation.

_"Yes, finally,"_ she thought, her nipples hardening further. She felt his warm breath ghost over them and she shivered, waiting. Then she waited some more. After a few seconds, she cracked an eyelid to find out what was taking so long and saw him staring up at her, grinning, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She looked at herself, arching her breasts towards his mouth wantonly, biting her lip in anticipation, her head thrown back and eyes closed, and she blushed furiously.

"You arse," she said, pushing at his shoulder. He chuckled, but then granted her wish, capturing a nipple in his teeth and his flicking tongue brought her right back to where she was, aching and wanting and rocking against him, in no time at all.

She wanted this man, always. She wanted him against her and behind her and inside her and every way she could get him. She wanted to make him come apart under her, ride him until he begged her, make him spill his seed before he was ready because she was just that good. She wanted him to bring her off with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and then lick her up and do it all again.

She reached down between them to grasp his firm shaft and slip it home. She stroked him at the same time she slid down his length, but in the narrow bathtub, she couldn't get her knees wide enough to take him in all the way. She rocked forward on the first few inches of him, gasping as he pressed against her just right.

"Ah, fuck, woman," Alfie groaned, a pained look on his face.

"Oh, _oh,_ Alfie," she breathed, "oh, you could make me come just like this." Her brain was skittering off the rails as she spiralled higher and higher, straining against him as she sought her own pleasure.

Alfie _growled_ , and he pushed up against the sides of the bath, lifting them both until she had to put her feet down or risk falling. She stood blinking, her mind a little fuzzy, and Alfie stepped out of the bath into the deluge of water on the floor and pulled her along behind him. He swiped a towel perfunctorily and ineffectively over both of them before gathering her up and kissing her again and again, harder and faster.

"I fucking want to _fuck_ you, woman," he gritted out, and backed her down the hall to the bedroom. They both shivered in the chilled air, but with hands swiping at water droplets and skin, when he lowered her to the bed and pounced on her, she already felt overheated.

He knelt over her, not wasting a second, pulling her hips where he wanted them. His fingers explored her folds, dipping inside her and making her moan and he rubbed her with his thumb. When he had her whimpering, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock, driving into her hard and deep.

"Gnngh," he groaned, "you feel so fucking good." His hips pistoned, his strokes long and steady and fast. "'M gonna make you feel so fucking good."

He _hammered_ into her, and her hips surged to meet his, matching him thrust for thrust, her ankles hooked around his thighs, her knees spread wide. "Oh, oh, oh FUCK ALFIE! Oh fuck, oh _GOD!_ Alfie...A..."

She couldn't stop the small scream that rolled out as her orgasm crashed around her, his hips never stopping. She clutched his back and held on, as wave after wave made her see stars. She clenched around him, even as he withdrew and wrapped his hand around himself to spill on her belly. The sight of him above her, groaning as he came, was glorious. " _Oh, fuck, this man is gorgeous,"_ she thought, again, the way she did every time she saw him naked. He flopped down beside her and she stared at the ceiling, her entire body singing, and counted her blessings. Her breathing finally slowed and she looked down at the mess he'd left and her lip curled in distaste, but only at the thought of getting up. She knew it was probably gross, and definitely something proper ladies didn't enjoy, but she didn't care. She liked having him all over her, and, she realised, he probably knew it.

Mabel rolled her eyes at herself and got up to clean up. In the bathroom, she dropped a few towels down over the worst of the puddles and promised herself she'd do something about it later. For now, though, she had a warm and sleepy Alfie on her hands, and she _cherished_ these moments, hoarded them like a miser, really. So when she got back to bed and Alfie was laying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around a pillow, Mabel crawled in beside him, threw her leg over the backs of his thighs, and snuggled in beside him. His head was turned away from her and he could have been asleep, but she knew better. She traced delicate circles on his shoulders, desperate to keep touching him. He still smelled like soap.

"I'm sorry about Georgie," she said quietly. "Are you going to sit shiva for him?"

Alfie sighed softly through his nose. "He's got a mum in Stratford. I'm not sure if I'd be welcome."

Mabel knew he'd go no matter what because Alfie Solomons was a right bastard, but he was the kind of bastard that made sure grieving mothers received large anonymous sums of money when their sons died in his service.

"Well, whatever you decide, let me know and I can take over for you here." Mabel pressed a kiss to his over-warm skin.

"Be nice if you could be there with me too," Alfie murmured.

Mabel froze, her lips still on Alfie's shoulder. His words made her heart ache, the casual way he wanted her at his side opened a chasm of longing she wasn't aware had existed inside her. She loved being wanted by this man.

"Seems like I might need two of you," Alfie said, turning towards her with a grin. "You sure you don't have a sister?"

Mabel opened her mouth and bit him on the shoulder.

"Oi!" Alfie chuckled. "Just one sister! Come on now!"

Mabel crawled on top of him, running her teeth over his neck and her fingers over his ribs. He squirmed, doing his best not to laugh and tried to buck her off, but she straddled his arse and held on.

"Not a chance, Mr Solomons." She ran her teeth along his ear. "You're mine." She nipped softly at his earlobe and let her hips roll, just a bit. "All of you."

"'S'at so?" His voice was lower suddenly, gravelly, sexy. She felt it slide down her belly and pool there, warm and tingling. She stretched out along his bigger body, lean and sensual, running her arms along his until she could grasp his hands in hers.

"Damn right," she husked in his ear, and he leant back to capture her mouth with his.

* * *

They jerked awake the next morning to the loud clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen. Mabel groaned and buried her face in the pillow as Alfie untangled their limbs and rolled out of bed, a secret smile on his face.

"Why, Alfie, why?" Mabel moaned from where she'd re-buried herself in the blankets. "Every damn time I stay over, I swear to god..."

"Ah," Alfie scoffed, pulling on his trousers "it's not every time."

Mabel unearthed herself from the mound of pillows to glare at him. "It IS. And you know it. And I don't know who kept me up more last night, you or the damn dog, but I think I got five minutes of sleep."

Alfie's low chuckle warmed her to her toes. "You're welcome, love," he said, grabbing her foot and giving it a squeeze and then following it up her leg to squeeze her bum too.

"Oi!" she squeaked. "Now don't start that again."

Alfie cocked an eyebrow at her and she felt herself grinning in spite of the barely daylight time of day. That is, until there was another loud volley of clanging from the kitchen. Mabel scowled and Alfie sighed, buttoning his shirt and pulling on his braces.

"I'll talk to her, yeah?"

"Mmph," Mabel grunted, and buried herself in the blankets again just for spite, even though she knew she'd be getting up anyway. She knew he wasn't going to. Or maybe he would, but it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. The salty housekeeper just was not interested in being friends with Mabel, no matter how hard she tried. She'd been every kind of polite she knew how to be, which was intense and would have made her mother proud. But whenever she stayed the night, which wasn't nearly as often as she liked, she grumbled in her own head, she was awakened to an orchestra rendition on the cookware the next morning. The earlier, the better, it seemed. She listened to Alfie putter around the bedroom for a few more minutes, and when he left with a squirming puppy under one arm and closed the door softly behind him, she sighed and rolled out of the comfy nest she'd created in the middle of the mattress. She had a full day anyway, it was probably a good thing Rowena hadn't let her sleep in. If she was going to be taking care of Alfie's side of the business today too and no Georgie to help her, she would have her hands full.

It was the thought of Georgie that sobered her up and got her moving. Life was calling, and she was grateful she got another day to answer.

When she entered the kitchen, dressed and pressed, Rowena was making a point of not looking at her while stirring whatever was on the stove and putting the final touches on two lunch pails on the sideboard. It smelled heavenly, as usual.

"Good morning, Rowena," Mabel said pleasantly. She'd decided long ago to behave as if she and Rowena were ancient friends, excited to spend girl time together and comfortable enough in each other's presence to let silences stretch. Long, long silences, hopefully.

"Good morning?!" Rowena started in. "How're ye gonna get that boy ta marry yeh, eh lassie? Have yeh thought of that?"

Apparently no silences today.

"That boy?!" Mabel asked, stricken. She pressed a hand to her heart. "Oh, Rowena..." she looked pained and Rowena blinked, taken aback. "I...I thought you knew!" Mabel bit her lip, blinking at the ceiling. "Oh, this is just awful, I don't know what to say."

"Knew?" Rowena looked a little thrown. "Knew wha, lassie?" she asked suspiciously.

"This...this whole time," Mabel approached her, grasping her floury hands, much to Rowena's horror. "All this time, I've been waiting for YOU to ask me!"

"Ach!" Rowena scowled and tried to pull her hands away, but Mable wouldn't let her. Instead, she dropped to one knee, peering moonily into Rowena's look of distaste.

"Will you?" Mabel caught her breath. "Rowena, will you do me the honour of being my wife?"

At that moment, Alfie entered the kitchen in a swirl of greatcoat and hat. He looked at the scene before him, Mabel down on one knee grasping Rowena's hands, and Rowena scowling the whole time.

"I leave for five minutes..." he muttered under his breath, then grabbed one of the pails and left without another word, the front door slamming behind him and the puppy's nails skittering on the floor behind him, trying to keep up.

Mabel burst into laughter, and to her surprise, so did Rowena. The older woman barked out a laugh, as if it were rusty and ill-used, and favoured Mabel with a half grin before extracting her hands and turning back to the counter. She got back to the business of ignoring Mabel entirely, and Mabel counted it as a win. She didn't know if they'd start over at square one again next time, probably, knowing Rowena, but today she felt like she could accomplish anything.

She also grabbed her lunch pail and swirled her coat around her. She swirled it carefully, because Alfie bought it for her at the start of winter and it was, by far, the most expensive thing she owned and would probably ever own, and she'd maim herself if she dropped Rowena's lunch down the front of it. Also, Rowena's lunches were delicious. So, double maiming.

"I'll be back around noon to take care of Peaches," she informed Rowena, carefully pinning her hat in place in the hall mirror.

"Eh?"

"The puppy."

"I know her _name_ , lassie. Ye think I kenna take care of a wee puppy?"

Mabel turned and saw Rowena with her hands on her hips, glaring at Peaches as fiercely as a person was physically capable of glaring at a puppy that was currently trying to catch her own tail. Mabel knew, without a doubt, that Peaches would be the best-fed dog on the planet if Rowena had anything to say about it. She smiled warmly at Rowena and kissed the older woman on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. Puppies were adorable and fun, but Mabel knew they were _work_ too, and she would have enough of that on her plate as it was. She almost wished she'd known about Georgie before taking her. She'd felt silly now, offering Alfie a dog in the face of what turned out to be his friend's death, and realised that if she had known, she would never have brought Peaches home.

The word home startled her, even in her own head. She looked around the living room, the familiar bookshelves straining with books, the uncomfortable sofas that Alfie was immensely proud of but never sat on, and the wrought iron umbrella stand by the door that contained not only one of her umbrellas but a parasol as well. She hadn't known she'd left it. Rowena saw her looking at the stand and gave her an odd look. Mabel gave herself a mental shake and smiled at her again.

"Did Alfie tell you about Georgie?" she asked softly, and she saw the older woman's eyes widen.

"Aye," she replied, "but I dinna ken...Georgie?"

Mabel felt, to her embarrassment, her own eyes filling at the shock and sadness in Rowena's voice. Georgie had fast become a permanent fixture by Alfie's side and had shared many meals gathered around Rowena's table. It was obvious how much he'd meant to Alfie. Mabel, again, felt a stab at her own inadequacy, offering him a puppy and sex as some kind of...how _could_ she? " _Yaldeh, you have GOT to get better at this. Seriously? 'Oh, I hear your friend died, let me open my legs and make it all better.'"_ Georgie was a good man and had been a good friend to them all. She resolved to do everything she could for Alfie, for the businesses, to help make this easier if she could.

"Yeah. He said he wasn't sure if he'd sit shiva, but I was planning on staying here while he's gone to help with the dog," Mabel said quietly, clearing her throat around the lump that she found there suddenly. "If that's alright with you, of course."

Rowena nodded slowly, obviously aware that Alfie would go, even if he'd said he wasn't sure. She knew what kind of bastard he was too. "Aye, lassie, that'll be fine."

Mabel smiled at her again, softly, and grasped one of her calloused hands in her own calloused hand, honestly this time. She may have imagined it, but right before she let it drop, she thought she'd felt pressure from Rowena's fingers in return.


	3. DIY Right-Hand-Man

Alfie closed the front door and hung his hat, ploughing a hand through his hair and shrugging out of his coat.  Mabel's coat was there, which he absolutely would NOT pick up and smell because she had to be around here somewhere and he'd just go pick HER up and smell HER.  

It had been a right fuck of a day.  Of a week, really.  He didn't entirely regret getting in bed with the Shelbys, not really, but there were a few times when he felt pretty well fucked because of it, and this was one of those times.  Georgie was...well, Georgie was gone, wasn't he?  So it didn't much matter what he used to be.  And he needed a new Georgie.  He knew Mabel had done what she could, but it was getting too big, too much, unless he did things a bit differently.  And he didn't want to give it all up just yet.

He turned to pick up the tiny puppy jumping at his shins, scratching her ears and tucking her close.  She was fucking adorable and already growing, her paws and head even bigger and gawkier than when he'd left.  He saw Mabel enter the room right behind her and felt something inside him uncoil, just a bit.  God, but it was good to be home.  He watched her smile, her face relaxed just a touch when she recognised him, and he opened his arms to her just in time.  She enveloped him in a hug and he buried his face in her scent, breathing deeply.  He wound his fingers into her hair, holding her close while the puppy squirmed between them, wanting to be put down.   But Mabel was standing close to him, a pillar of warmth and strength, letting him hold her because she knew he needed it, and God help him, he did.  When he finally broke the embrace to set Peaches on her feet, Mabel brushed his shoulders off and straightened his tie.  

"You clean up pretty well, Mr Solomons," she teased, her voice light, offering him solace, respite, comfort if he wanted it.  He felt his mouth turn up at the corners and he shook his head at her.  Damn this woman.  

She leant close to kiss the corner of his mouth.  "Welcome back," she whispered, then bit her bottom lip, the way that drove him crazy.

_"God, I missed you,"_   he wanted to say, the words almost physically on his tongue.

"God, I missed you," she murmured, and kissed him properly, chasing the words away with her own tongue.  She was flush against him, warm, and beautiful, and perfect.

He squeezed her too hard, just to hear her "oof!" and put her back down on her feet with a small smile on her face.

"We got anything to drink?"

"Ah," she said sagely, "that, sir, is something you will probably never be in short supply of.  Rum?"

"Mmph.  Whisky," he decided, taking off his braces and heading for the study.

"Yikes.  It's like that, huh?"

"Mmph."  He didn't want to do this tonight, hadn't wanted to do it at all, but he needed her help and she'd waited up for him.  He sank into the creaky old chair in the study, the big sturdy desk more organised than he'd ever seen it.  Mabel must have been bored.  Everything was dusted, of course, Rowena would have nothing less, but the pile of paperwork that had been steadily growing on the corner had been thinned down, and the bottom drawer was heavy with files.  He mentally grumbled that he'd never be able to find anything until he saw her neat handwriting carefully labelling each file.  "Receipts, Bakery Ledgers '18, Wages Ledgers '19, Articles You Told Yourself You Should Read but Probably Won't."  He breathed out a laugh at the last one and stopped to wonder at her. 

She really did know him.  He hadn't planned it, hadn't even wanted it if he was being honest with himself.  He'd fucked plenty of women over the years, but none of them had organised his desk.  Or bought him a dog.  Or made him laugh.  It had been too long since he'd laughed the way he did when he was with her.  She wasn't deliberately funny.  Well, sometimes she was.  But mostly it was...everything about her.  He couldn't explain it.  Like the cockamamie story about the dog coming from a farmer and being the smallest of the litter.  It was horse shite, and he didn't believe it for a second.  When would she have been at a farm?  And that dog was nowhere near being a runt.  He knew dogs, had grown up with them, had even fought them for a while when he was young and stupid, and this dog had bones like he'd never seen.  She was beautiful and he knew that Mabel had paid a pretty penny for her.  She'd probably been on a waiting list.  But she'd managed to bring home the puppy exactly when he needed it, knowing he'd keep her because she was all-seeing like that.  A right witch.  And the whole thing made him laugh.  

Suddenly, she was there in front of him, soft curls escaping the pins in her hair, a glass of whisky in her hand, a guilty look on her face when she saw him looking at the files she'd spent hours organising.  As if he was going to be angry with her for doing something nice for him.  

He rose and took the glass from her hand, setting it somewhere on the desk before cupping her face in his palms.  He searched her eyes, curious on his, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for.  

"You're a witch, aren't you."

"Mmm.  Probably.  How else would I have found where you hide the good whisky?" she teased and he had to kiss her.  He had to.  

When they broke apart, she blinked hazily and asked, "Not that I'm complaining, but what was all that for?"

Alfie's mouth was a grim line and he settled behind the desk again with a sigh.  "I need a favour."  The words tasted so bad in his mouth he had to wash them down with a swallow of the alcohol.

Mabel appeared as shocked as he was, but she quickly composed herself.  "One second," she promised, then disappeared.  Alfie frowned and finished the glass, but she was back promptly, her familiar notebook clutched in her hand.  

"What's that for?" he asked, irritated.  Did she really need to drag this out?  

"Oh, this is my diary.  I'm just writing down for posterity the day Alfie Solomons asked  _me_  for a favour," she grinned at him, settling in the chair across from him.  He couldn't help rolling his eyes at her, but he kept his frown firmly in place.  Damn witch.

She flipped a few pages, a pencil between her fingers and her lips pursed.  "How much do you need?  I can liquidate quite a bit tomorrow, but it might take--"

"I don't need money," he stopped her.  His eyebrows drew together.  "What in the bloody hell made you think I needed your money?"

She stopped, confusion splashed across her face.  "Well, what do you need?"

Alfie swallowed.  "Abe."

Now she did freeze like he'd known she would.  He could see her frown starting, the stubborn set of her shoulders, the immediate shake of her head.  "Now, just a damn minute, Alfie..."

"Mabe."  The nickname stopped her but she was still frowning.  "I need him.  I wouldn't ask if I didn't need him."

"Well, you're not exactly asking, are you?" she grumbled, closing the book in front of her.

Alfie paused and then continued because he was Alfie fucking Solomons and that's what he did.  "I asked him.  And he said yes."

Her mouth dropped open and he steeled himself.  "Well, you right bastard!  Bloody hell, what the  _fuck_ , Alfie?" She threw her pencil down and it bounced onto the floor.  "How could you do that to me?  This is my business, you can't just waltz in and start misappropriating my staff!"  

And god help him, he loved it when she got frustrated and started using big words.  She was brilliant, and fiery, and passionate about the things she cared about and he was missing everything she was yelling at him because he kept staring at the way colour flushed her cheeks, and more curls shook loose, and her dark eyebrows drew together.  Sometimes he riled her up just because she looked this way when she was angry.

"You have access to the entire  _bloody_   _city_  Alfie, you can walk out your front door and trip over people who want to do your bidding, and you have the fucking  _nerve_  to come into my--"

"The fucking nerve?"  he interrupted, his voice quiet compared to her squawking and she stopped talking immediately, but crossed her arms and glared at the wall instead.

"The fucking  _nerve_?" he said again, louder, rising from the chair.  She turned to scowl at him directly and he slapped his hand flat on the desk.  "Let's not forget who works for whom, here, sweetheart.  That is my building you're lording over, that is literally my fucking chair you sit in every day."  

"Oh, don't start that shite with me, Alfie, we have been around this circle so many god damn times it's making my head spin," she snapped.  "You don't need Abe, you never did.  I told you a bloody year ago that Chambers would be--"

"Chambers is out!" Alfie shouted in her face, then cussed himself a blue streak in his head.  How did she do that to him?  He was constantly revealing more than he meant to, long before he meant to, whenever he was with her.  She seemed to pull it out of him, like an inevitable waterfall of words.  Witch. 

She stood in front of him, fists clenched and nostrils flaring.  "What do you mean, 'Chambers is out'?  He was at work yesterday."

"Oh, what do you think I mean?" Alfie berated her, his patience done.  He was tired, he hadn't eaten all day, and the generous glass of whisky was hitting an empty stomach pretty hard.  "He's out, he's done.  With you and with me."  Alfie leant his head back tiredly and put his hands on his hips, all of it suddenly staggering him.  He was getting fucking old.

She looked...hurt almost.  "With me?  But why?  He didn't say anything to me, why would he--"

"His wife is having a baby," he said, more harshly than he meant to.  

Mabel stopped, her fists unclenching.  "Oh," she breathed, and she sat down again.  "Well, that's..." but she didn't finish the thought.

Alfie looked down at the desk, not seeing it.  "He said he didn't want to leave her alone with a baby to take care of, so he couldn't do it anymore."  The silence stretched between them, thick and almost painfully separating them.  He didn't know what was going on in her head, but he wanted to escape his own so badly he thought about getting another drink.  "Fuck," he said under his breath.  He continued on, talking to himself more than her.  "He was terrified to tell me.  Thought I was going to kick his teeth in because he wanted to be a good father."  He sucked on his moustache for a second, then sat down again.

"Alfie, why don't you just tell me these things?  I'm not your bloody butler, it's ok to actually give me all the information."

"Mmph," he grunted at her and settled back in the chair, his fingers turning the empty glass.  "Mabe, you know I can't have just anyone.  Right?  You  _know_  that."

She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her knees.  "Yeah."  She looked up at him, her gaze heavy.  "Yeah, I know it.  And I know you wouldn't ask if you didn't need him.  Just..." she sighed.  "Just don't forget that he's not going to tell you when he's tired, and he starts favouring his whole right side when he's had a long day.  And he can't do as much anymore, he's not as fast.  You can't expect him to be able to--"

"I know, Mabe, I know all that," he said, his voice low.  "Look, I can't promise he's going to be safe, and I can't promise this is temporary."  He reached across the desk, his palm up.  "But I can promise that I will fucking try."

She gave him a watery smile and took his hand, her small, delicate fingers warm in his.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I know that too.  Sorry, yeah?"

"Mmph."

Mabel took a cleansing breath.  "Hungry?  Rowena left something."

"Mmph," he grunted affirmatively and watched her as she rose and headed to the kitchen.  "Mabel," he stopped her, and she turned back.  "You should hire someone.  For the bakery.  It's mostly legitimate, you could even take out an advert.  Find someone you like, just..." he faltered for a minute, then settled on, "just don't try to do it all yourself."

Her eyebrows drew together, and she studied him before nodding slowly.  "Yeah, boss," she murmured, then gave him a half smile before leaving him with his thoughts.


	4. DIY Besties

Mabel almost cried thinking about the amount of work that awaited her by the time Alfie got back. She'd been covering for him for a week, and while Abe could usually handle the day to day and she'd been at the bakery as often as possible, she knew that she would be buried in paperwork on Monday: a figurative that might very well become literal if the Tuesday shipment was going to be late again.

"Ahhh hah haaaaa!" she fake sobbed when she saw the mountain of work on her desk. "Oh my god, I'm never going to find the bottom of it!"

"Sorry, boss," Abe cringed, the useless fucker. She was going to miss him like crazy.

Mabel sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Just...just see if you can keep everyone out for today so I can at least make a dent."

"Yeah, boss," he promised, closing the door behind him.

Mabel blew the hair out of her eyes and removed her coat and hat. Right. She rolled her shoulders. " _You can do this, Mabe. Boss lady, extraordinaire. Let's go._ " She grabbed her pencil, a fresh ledger, settled herself what felt like permanently in her office chair, when there was a knock on the door. Abe poked his head in.

"Seriously?" she asked, her eyebrow raised. "It's been thirty whole seconds. You're the worst at this. I'm letting Alfie know what he's getting himself in for."

"I know, sorry, but you have a visitor," Abe grimaced. "It's Polly Shelby," he added in a whisper.

 _"Bloody hell,"_ she blinked. _"What in the name of all that is holy is she doing here?"_

"Ok, yeah," she cleared her throat. "Show her in, would you?"

Abe nodded, and Mabel took a few seconds to stand and brush the wrinkles out of her skirt, grimacing at the sturdy work fabric and plain cut of her dress. Of all the days to dress like she worked here. Unfortunately, this is how she usually dressed, because she worked when she was here, thank you very much, but it would have been bloody nice to not feel like a frumpy wash woman right now.

Polly Shelby was beautiful. Older, flinty-eyed, and no stranger to late nights and plenty of booze, but beautiful. She breezed into Mabel's office like a typhoon, a force of nature in a cloud of charisma and cigarette smoke and Mabel immediately felt inadequate. She felt small in all the wrong ways, and her tongue seemed to flop in her mouth like a dead lizard. " _A dead...lizard?? What the hell is wrong with you, Mabe? She's just a woman. It's like Abe always says. I can't kick her in the bollocks, but she's just a woman._ " Mabel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"Good morning, Ms Shelby." Should she offer her hand to shake? "What can I do for you?" She settled on keeping her hands on the desk.

Polly's eyes crinkled when she smiled, her rouged lips and cheeks a classic contrast to her still-dark hair. Her teeth reminded Mabel of predators.

"It's Mabel, right? Mabel Ziemann? Should I call you Mabel?" She dropped into one of Mabel's office chairs and removed her gloves, her fur coat ruffling attractively around her neck.

Mabel blinked. "Uh...I suppose you should."

"Wonderful, darling. And you should call me Polly, of course."

What on earth...? "Should I?" Mabel hadn't felt this out of place in her own office in quite a while. "If...if that's what you want, Ms Shelby."

"Oh, come now. Don't be so timid. I can't have that. You and I are going to be very close." Polly eyed Mabel while she withdrew a cigarette and lit it, not asking for permission. "In fact, I'm here to ask you to a little get-together I'm having this weekend."

At Mabel's shocked look, Polly clarified, "Not at the house, or anything like that, just a few of us at the club for dinner and drinks, maybe a little dancing. What do you think?" She smiled again through the haze of smoke and Mabel thought of sharks.

"Ah..." the smoke must have been getting to her because she said the first thing that came to her mind. "I don't think Alfie would like that very much."

Polly's eyebrows shot up and her smile widened, becoming smug instead of predatory like she was a cat that had shown up to catch a canary and instead found it flopping on the floor of its cage. "Oh my goodness," she whispered, almost to herself, "you are too precious."

To Mabel, she said, "Isn't it tough working in a man's world? They always feel they know best, don't they? Gracious, it's like they think we wouldn't know how to open our own doors if they weren't there to do it for us!" She laughed, her husky voice ringing in the small room. She sucked down another drag and eyed Mabel again, who was still standing behind her desk, her hands leaving sweaty palm prints on its cluttered surface. "You know, I've been doing this a long time. I think you and I could be very good for one another." She paused, thinking. "Do you always do everything he says? Or does he let you add up the columns all by yourself before he signs off on it?"

Mabel instantly hardened. "Fine," she ground out, her feathers ruffling immediately. " _I_ wouldn't like it. And you can fuck right off because I am appalled that you think you could get one over on Alfie by coming in here and expecting me to roll over like some half-wit lackey and start spilling secrets."

She advanced on Polly, her voice getting louder and louder. "What exactly did you think coming in here today and trying to befriend me would accomplish? Did you think that you could eventually get me to influence Alfie for you because you and I would have a friendship? In what universe would I pick _you_ over _him_?" Now she was shaking her finger in Polly's taken aback and slightly impressed face. "I can't decide if you thought you could get to me because I'm a woman or because you think I'm stupid, but let me tell you something." Mabel let her anger bristle and the air around her crackle for a beat. "If you ever, and I mean EVER, step foot on this property without being heavily armed again, you will regret it for the rest of your very short life. You better come gunning or don't come at all, because I don't need you to be my _friend_ ," she spit out. "I have a business to run. Now," she straightened, "fuck off."

"Oh," Polly breathed, looking like a proud mother hen, "you two are perfect for each other, aren't you." She smiled warmly in the face of Mabel's scowl.

"Abe!" Mabel shouted, and Abe opened the door from the other side, holding it open so Polly could exit. "Show Ms Shelby to the door please, and be sure to give her one of our housewarming bread baskets on her way out because we do so appreciate good company around these parts."

Mabel smiled her sugary-est smile and Polly pulled on her gloves before inclining her head toward Mabel and exiting her office, a small secretive smile on her face. Mabel tried not to slam it as she closed the door behind her and returned to her desk, trying to recapture her thoughts from before. Bothersome woman anyway.

Mabel pushed it to the back of her mind, found her groove and worked steadily through lunch, pausing only when her stomach growled too loudly to ignore. She sighed deeply and stretched, the muscles in her back complaining. Suddenly the door to her office flew open and she shrank back, startled before she recognised Alfie, coat and broad-brimmed hat, completely out of breath.

"Alfie! What on earth..."

"I heard."

"You...what? You heard?"

"I heard what you said to Polly Shelby. I heard what you told that old bat and I've never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now." Alfie panted, his hand still holding the door to her office open.

Mabel blinked, then chuckled, despite herself. "Is that so?" She smiled fondly at him. "Right here in the office? Just like old times?"

"What?" Alfie looked around, confused. "Hell no, not in the office." He moved to the coat rack and grabbed her hat, thrusting it at her. "You're done for the day. I'm taking you to bed, and I'm not letting you up for a week."

She smiled, accepting her coat. "A week? Goodness. I hope no one comes looking for me."

He pushed her towards the door. "Did you really tell her to fuck off?"

Her smile faltered. "Yes?"

"A week. At _least_."

Then he grinned, his Alfie grin that made her heart flutter and she knew she'd follow him anywhere.


	5. DIY Parental Visits

The first touch of his tongue to hers was electric, every time. He was on her as soon as they got in the front door and she didn't think she would ever get bored of Alfie's kisses. The man set her on fire and she was helpless in the face of him. She let him walk her backwards, stopping to pull off coats, hats, gloves, shoes, all of it littered in a long trail and they made it to the hallway before he pushed her up against the wall and wrapped her legs around his hips.  

 

His trousers were unbuttoned, but that was all, his shirt only half unbuttoned, and she was still wearing her shirtwaist, her long sleeves buttoned at the wrist but pushed up to expose her breasts.  Her skirt was bunched up around her waist uncomfortably, but still, he was grinding up against her and the friction was in the perfect spot, and holy _fuck_ , he was going to make her come before he even got his kit off.  He was kissing her and kissing her and she was pretty sure she was sliding down the wall but who the fuck cared when his hard cock was thrusting up against her like that. 

Mabel moaned, long and loud, just like Alfie liked but would never admit.  Which, of course, was when they heard a loud throat-clearing behind them.  

"Ahem!"

They both froze.

"Ach, no, dunna mind me, dears.  I'm sure you jus' forgot I work 'ere.  During the day.  When you're supposed to be gone."

Alfie grimaced and used his broad back to shield Mabel as she quickly unclasped her ankles and slid to the floor, hastily adjusting her clothing and fairly sure her face would ignite into actual flames at any moment.  

"Rowena," Alfie began, then cleared his throat and started again, speaking over his shoulder.  "You can actually have the rest of the day off.  Please.  Thank you," he stammered, and Mabel would have chuckled at his obvious discomfort if she hadn't been completely mortified and fervently praying the ground would open up around her, her face buried in Alfie's shirt so she wouldn't have to meet Rowena's disapproving eye.

"Ooch!  Ken I?  Well, I thank ye, kind sir," and Mabel didn't need to see her to know she was scowling.  

Alfie nodded benevolently, although he still hadn't turned to face her, his arms caging Mabel and hopefully blocking her from sight.

"Yer mother called."

They both froze again and it took Mabel a few seconds to realise Rowena was talking to her.  

"Wait, _my_  mother?" she asked, peering around Alfie and meeting her gaze for the first time.  Her eyes flicked back and forth between Alfie and the annoyed housekeeper.  Then her heart started hammering in her chest for the third time in as many minutes for as many different reasons.   

"Well, it can't be mine, love," Alfie said gently.

Mabel frowned a little at that but asked Rowena in a panicky voice, "My mother called _here_?  How did she know I was here?"

"I dinna ken she knew, just lookin'.  She knows who your boss is, yes?"

"Oh," Mabel said stupidly, then scooted out from under Alfie's arm.  She heard him sigh as she firmly avoided Rowena's gaze and spent a few shameful moments retrieving her scattered articles of clothing before ducking into the bathroom to finish re-dressing.  

When she emerged, Rowena was still there, fists on her ample hips and a bitter twist to her lips.  Alfie was nowhere to be seen, but his quickly growing puppy was sitting outside his closed bedroom door, tongue out and ready to play the instant it budged.  She completely ignored Mabel and Mabel bit back her own sigh.

"What did you tell her," Mabel asked, "please?" as politely as she could while she set about gathering her coat and hat.

"I told her to try your flat, o'course," Rowena grumbled.  "Gave her the number."

Mabel froze again, her arms in the process of pinning her hat in place in front of the mirror in the front entryway.  "But there's no one there but my..." Mabel stopped, the horror dawning on her, "landlord."  She scrambled to gather her things.  "Oh, bollocks, who knows what he told her?" she said to herself and let herself out the front door.  "Oh, um, bye," she added as an afterthought to Rowena, but didn't stop for her reply, just started walking quickly toward her flat.

Thankfully it wasn't a long walk, and her feet knew the way.  Her brain was on overload, trying to figure out what to say to her mother about why she hadn't called, or written, or come to visit, or given her the damn telephone number for her building.  The truth was easy:  she was never home.  The reason for the truth was less easy:  she spent as much available time with Alfie as possible, and now that there was Peaches to take care of, she was at his house even when he wasn't available.  When she reached her dark and dusty flat, she sighed and tried to mentally prepare for a meeting with her landlord.  The older gentleman was extremely awkward, and every conversation revolved around whether or not she had cats up there because cats could destroy a flat faster than *insert random metaphor she'd never heard before*, all the while he directed the conversation at her breasts.

"Mr Waterhouse?" she called at the bottom of the stairs, and his thinning grey haired head appeared from the "office" he used, and she wasn't entirely sure he didn't live in.

"Ah! Miss Ziemann!" he addressed her chest and she sighed, then immediately regretted doing so when his eyes widened.  "What can I do for you?"

"I was told that maybe I received a call while I was out?"

"Hmm?" he dragged his eyes up, "Oh, yes!"  He returned to his office to grab a piece of paper, then proceeded to tell her every single thing he'd written on it, time of call, number called from, length of call, etc, while she shifted from foot to foot, eager to get away.   

"It was your mother, lovely woman.  She just wanted to check up on you, see how things were going, of course."  He chuckled and she gave him a weak smile, trying to turn towards the stairs.  "I told her that you're not around much anymore, gone at all hours."

She paused, one foot on the step and her smile felt frozen in place.  

"She said she's excited for her visit!  Will she be staying with you?" he asked nosily.  "She doesn't have cats, does she?"

"No," she answered distractedly, "no cats."

"Good, because cats can mess up a flat faster than spit in a pig's eye.  Constantly," he dropped to a whisper, " _urinating_  on everything." He made a face.

"Yes," she said, already climbing the stairs, "thank you, Mr Waterhouse, for the message."

"Oh, no trouble, no trouble at all!" he addressed her backside, and she skittered into her room, locking her door behind her.

 

* * *

' _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,'_  she thought, close to panicking as she paced her barren flat.  It looked very un-lived-in, now that she stopped to notice.  Half her wardrobe had migrated to Alfie's, there wasn't a scrap of food in the house, and she didn't even have anything to clean her bloody teeth.  She grumbled, cursed mentally and aloud, and spent the next hour scrubbing the dust out of the mostly empty flat. It was hot, dirty work, and she thought longingly of the bathtub at Alfie's (taps!) before washing up as best she could and heading to the telephone in the hall that was used by the whole complex. 

"Mother!  Hello, how are you?  It's me.  Mabel.  Yeah. Do you have a lot of people that call you 'Mother' that I don't know about?  No, of course not, I'm sorry. Yes, I know it has been a while since I called. Yes, or wrote. Yes, or visited."

At this point, Mr Waterhouse wasn't even pretending to not be listening, leaning out of his office doorway in his rolling chair. 

"Well, I've been busy, of course."  There was a long pause while she waited for her mother to run out of steam on the other end.  "He said that?  Well, that's just silly, Mother, where would I be? Of course I'm not calling him a liar, Mother.  Well, I do spend a lot of time at the...at work," she amended, glancing at Mr Waterhouse and hurriedly changed the subject.  

"So I understand you're planning a visit!  That's...exciting.  So, just a day or two?  A...a month?!  Wait, Mother...no, wait.  A _month_!?  No, that actually will _not_  work.  Because I have a job, I cannot entertain you for a whole...Fine, I apologise.  HOST you.  No, Mother...Mother, please.  Please be reasonable.  NO.  It's not a possibility, please stop pushing.  Fine, yes, ok, fine.  Fine.  A week.  Yes, I can do a week.  NO, NOT _NEXT_ WEEK!  Because I have to hire a new foreman, and there's interviews to prepare and the Tuesday shipments keep coming in late and...you know what?  It doesn't matter _why_  it won't work, it just _will not_ work.  Well, tell Daddy to speak with his job and reschedule.  Tell them it's because those dates don't work anymore, and unfortunately, we need to reschedule.  MUM." 

She sighed and leant her head against the wall a little harder than necessary, the thump feeling visceral and grounding.

"Nothing, I just have a headache.  No, I am eating.  Yes, I am also getting enough sleep.  Well, goodness, I don't know, maybe I'm wearing my hair too tight.  Yes, I'll look into that."  Thump.  "No, I'm not being smart with you."  Thump.  She stopped another sigh just in time.  "How about next month, Mother?  Yes, that would be much better for me.  Ok, we will have to work out exact days later.  Right, now you have my phone number, so I'm sure I'll be hearing from you.  No, still not being smart with you.  Of course, Mother.  I love you, too.  Right.  Goodbye."  

Thump, thump, thump.  Siiiiigh. 


	6. DIY Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on vacation this week, so I didn't get much written. Consider this what we call in this family a "filler episode": doesn't do much to drive the plot forward, but hopefully fun anyway. Also doesn't feature very many characters, because one of them was probably on vacation also.

Mabel bent over the sauce, burbling away on the stove, and wondered what the hell you were supposed to do if you accidentally put in too much salt.  She took another tiny taste, hoping she'd imagined it. 

_'Oh, God, no, not my imagination,'_   she thought, spitting into the sink.   _'That's just awful.'_

Well, what was she supposed to do now?  She already had the pasta cooked, she'd spent forever getting the rest of the meal just right even though Rachel had assured her it was "the easiest thing in the world, you _can't_  cock it up and he'll just love it!"  

_'Well, I guess I  showed you, Rachel,'_ she thought miserably, _'don't tell me what I can't do.'_   She moaned into her hand for a second before taking a deep breath.   _'Ok, Mabe, stop your whinging, and do something about it.'_  

Worrying her lip, Mabel cut up another tomato and added it along with a bit of water.  She tasted it again and sighed.  Maybe pepper?  That was the opposite of salt, right?

"Come on, you fucker," she swore at the pot, daring it to fight back.

"You talkin' to me?" Alfie said from behind her.  Mabel jumped, guiltily.

"Alfie!  I didn't know you were back already!"  She turned, hiding the disaster behind her.  "Everything alright?"

"Right as rain, love, right as rain."  Alfie scratched his beard and Peaches dove around his ankles, yapping happily and trying to get his attention.  "What's all this?"

"Oh, this?  This is nothing, I was just..."

"Smells good," he remarked, trying to peer around her.  "Is it ready?  I'm starvin'.  You can't deny a starving man food, that's what I've always said."

Mabel raised an eyebrow at him.  "I've never heard you say that in your life."

"Well, I've heard other people saying it and I will be saying it quite a lot going forward, so prepare yourself.  Come on, let's eat."  He settled himself at the table matter-of-factly, rolling his sleeves another turn and systematically removing his pocket watch, spectacles and other do-dads he seemed to acquire throughout the day, setting them neatly on the table beside him.

Right, just like any other meal.  Ok, she could do this.  She quickly transferred food to serving dishes and brought it over to the table, her insides churning.  It looked lovely, the colours bright against the white tablecloth.  It even smelled passable.  Maybe it wasn't that bad.  She steeled her nerves and served Alfie and then herself, ignoring the way he was watching her while he shook out his napkin and laid it on his lap.  She refused to make eye contact as she brought out the salad, making sure Alfie had a generous portion before sitting nervously.  She realised she was, quite literally, on the edge of her seat and forced herself back.  She dredged up a smile while the puppy continued yapping between them, hungry for attention, and Alfie shushed her.  Peaches immediately quieted, her tongue lolling adorably out the side of her mouth and her tiny flopped-over ears were bright and alert.  Mabel was so shocked at the puppy's instant obedience that she missed Alfie's first bite.  He'd chewed and swallowed and was readying his second by the time she'd unclenched her teeth enough to ask,

"Is it...alright?"

Alfie glanced at her passingly.  "Fine," he said shortly, but not unkindly.  Then he returned his focus to his plate and continued eating.

She stared at his bent head for a second. _"Fine? He said it was fine. What does that mean? Fine?! That's just...he probably hates it.  It's terrible, I don't know what I was thinking, I am completely not cut out for domestic shit, god damn Rowena and her sister, and her sister's kid, and her sister's kid having a baby, and her sister's kid's baby living so far away--"_

"Ack!" Mabel practically jumped through the roof as Peaches nipped her ankle.  "PEACHES! No, no! Bad dog!" Mabel felt her anxiety dam break and flood out towards the tiny puppy, who cowered behind Alfie's ankles and whimpered once.  Mabel immediately felt miserable, the puppy's sad face guilting her with a power her mother would be impressed by.

Alfie scooped up the pup with one hand and deposited her in the back garden with an odd look at Mabel as he passed.  Mabel pushed noodles around on her plate and sulked.   _"Can't possibly cock this up",_  she thought, _"he'll love it."_   She shook her head at herself.  _"Bollocks."_ But when he returned, the happy, yapping puppy was at his heels, happy tongue lolling again and Mabel allowed herself to feel a bit better that maybe the dog wouldn't hate her forever.  

They finished the meal in silence, Mabel shoving food into her mouth automatically and, blessedly, not tasting a thing.  Alfie ate the way he always ate, head down and efficiently moving food from his plate to his belly.  Usually, Mabel chatted cheerily enough for the both of them, but tonight she just couldn't, not with the negative centrifuge in her head.  She wasn't sure if she wanted Alfie to notice or not, honestly.  He probably had noticed, and just hadn't said anything.  Why would he?  She couldn't believe how ridiculous she was being over some stupid dinner she'd made and she would _not_ ask him again how it was because she wasn't going to lower herself to begging.  

When she finally couldn't force another bite, she began to pick up plates and stack them for the kitchen.  When she turned around, Alfie was gone.  She sighed, and scraped the rest of it into the garbage, refusing to feel sorry for herself.  Alfie hadn't asked her to make dinner, she'd just wanted to.  She'd wanted to make something nice for him, to do something she didn't do for anyone else.  She wanted, maybe a little, to wow him with her culinary prowess and have him ooh and ahh over what a good cook she was, the way she heard so many other men do.  

He was in the living room, sitting in the old leather armchair that only he used and was the only chair in the room he ever sat in. She flopped down on the sofa across from him, gathering herself to start a Conversation, when he cut her off, his eyes still fixed on the paper. 

"You know, you don't have to try to win my approval.  I'm not your boss."

She paused, then the preparation breath she'd taken gusted out of her.  She made a face. "Well, technically, you are. And..." she continued quietly, "you say that like I shouldn't even want to have your approval.  Which is silly, because of course I do."

Alfie folded down the corner of the paper and met her eyes. "You say that like you don't already have it, all the time."

It threw her for a moment, his straightforwardness, and she felt herself blushing stupidly.  

"Now," he stated, changing the subject and going back to his paper, "fuck off so's I can read, yeah?"

She smiled at him, the thousand watt smile he brought out in her sometimes. "Sweetest boss ever," she quipped, then headed back to the kitchen to clean up, dropping a kiss on his head as she passed. Rowena would kill her if she found the kitchen with a crumb somewhere that she didn't specifically put there.  Plus, Mabel had a pan to replace before she got back.  The other one was beyond saving. 

"Potato," Alfie's voice came from behind her. 

Mabel paused, not sure she heard correctly. Then she craned her head back into the room. "Pardon?"

Alfie didn't bother to fold down the corner of the paper again, so from behind it came, "Potato."

Mabel felt a twinge of annoyance. She cleared her throat. 

"What about them?"

"They soak up extra salt."  He ruffled the pages.  "You drop in a half a potato and cook for a few more minutes and Bob's your uncle."

Mabel should have been annoyed, but first, she would have to pick her jaw up off the ground. 

"You...how did you...but, wait, you said it was...you know how to COOK?!" she finally sputtered out. 

This time, he did fold down the paper.  "I know a lot of things."

Mabel folded her arms and sniffed. "Fine. YOU can make dinner tomorrow then."  

Before she could stomp off, from behind the raised paper came, "Can't."

Mabel did her best not to grit her teeth. "And why is that?" she asked, her voice sugary sweet. 

"I'm taking you out to dinner tomorrow night."

Mabel felt a little wrong-footed, standing in the doorway of Alfie's living room wearing Rowena's apron, probably permanently stained with the remnants of the worst sauce ever and being told how to cook by a gangster.

"Yeah, ok," she said softly.  "It was pretty bad, I know."

"'S alright," Alfie murmured. "Right nice to know there's something you're not good at."

Mabel rolled her eyes at him but the corner of her mouth quirked up a tiny bit on her way back to the sink.

Suddenly, from the back garden came a series of barks, then terrified yelps, then a high-pitched whine and even though Mabel had rarely seen Alfie move so fast, she got there first. She threw herself at the door outside yelling Peaches' name and positive she'd find a mass murderer or a bear or a dragon trying to eat her poor, poor--

Both Mabel and Alfie pulled up short when they instead found Peaches cowering in fear as close to the back door as possible to get away from--

a squirrel. A small, red squirrel in the back yard was sitting on the ground with its tail fluffed, cursing a blue streak at Peaches in chatters and chirps. Apparently, this young fellow was very put out by the fact that Peaches not only existed but had _barked_  at him. 

"Oh-oh-oh, my goodness," Mabel tutted, crouching to soothe the pup. "Did that big, mean 'ol squirrel scare...?" Mabel trailed off as Peaches squirmed out of her grasp in order to rush to Alfie with her tail tucked safely between her legs and paw at his trouser leg. 

"...you?"  Mabel frowned at the puppy, who was now happily snuggled in the crook of Alfie's elbow while he made a show of checking her over while angling her in a way that he thought kept Mabel from seeing him kiss the top of her head.  

"Ah, she's alright."  He ruffled her ears and she stared up at him worshipfully, her tongue weakly licking his wrist. "Gotta meet the neighbours sometime."

Mabel felt her throat start to close up and was startled and hotly embarrassed by the sudden tears that threatened.  She blinked hard and ran her fingers over Peaches' velvety ears. 

_'_ _She's just a dog.  She isn't going to be psychologically scarred because you yelled at her earlier.  Maybe she'd want some of the leftover food as an apology?  No, that's a terrible idea.  Here's a punishment for being punished earlier, sorry about that.  If it had been less awful, maybe you'd like me better.'_  

Then, for the second time in less than a minute, Mabel felt like she might cry.  Holy hell, what was wrong with her?!  She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.   _'Honestly, pull yourself together girl.  Surely you're woman enough to handle--oh, wait,'_ she thought, drawing to a mental halt. _'What day is it?'_

Mabel quickly started counting backwards.   _'Well, yep, that would explain it.'_  Sometimes she liked being a woman, and sometimes it was bloody awful.   _'And awfully bloody.'_  Mabel swallowed hard again, this time around the inane laugh that she wouldn't ever, in a million years, be able to explain to Alfie if she let it loose.  She realised she'd been staring at the top of the dog's head, petting her slowly for an awkwardly long time, and when she met Alfie's eyes, he was looking at her warily, like he wasn't quite sure what was going on.  She cleared her throat and forced her hands to her sides.  

"Well, I guess if we have a powerful need to have any squirrels chased, we're just going to have to do it ourselves. I don't think she's going to be up for scaring off any of those vicious creatures anytime soon."

Alfie gave her an odd look but held the back door open for her on the way back in the house.


	7. DIY Dog Days

"Ok, that's all for today, guys, thanks for staying a few minutes late.  Remember that if you know anyone that would be interested or if  _you're_  interested, I'll come in early tomorrow and the next day, just bring me a list of qualifications.  Also, there's a sign-up list for volunteers for next week's special order if anyone is interested in additional wages.  Have a good night," Mabel said with finality.

 

She watched the group of grimy, tired men shuffle off the floor and listened to them jostle each other and laugh, back slaps, promises of pints and good-natured insults tossed back and forth.  She just hoped that tomorrow morning there might be one or two of them interested in the foreman position so she wouldn't have to post an advert.  She could name them all, knew their spouses, their strengths and weaknesses, and their absolute loyalty to Alfie.  She was counting on it, actually.  She packed up her desk, turned off the lights and headed back to her flat.  She had her parents coming next month and she was making a conscious effort to make her barely-lived-in flat something that she actually enjoyed spending time in.   

Mabel slid the key in the lock, then stood in the open doorway and breathed.  It had been a long day.  _Another_  long day, she amended mentally. She was tired, and grouchy, and hungry, and...and lonely, it finally dawned on her.  It had been four days since Abe had left and she'd been so busy that she was falling into bed at night in a heap of exhaustion.  She talked to plenty of people during the day, especially since the Tuesday shipments were  _still_  coming in late, and she had also wished for five minutes to her goddamned self so she could get something done.  But now, as she looked around the darkened rooms, the quiet walls bare of any art or personality, she longed for another soul to really talk to.  Or not!  Someone she could sit in comfortable silence with and let today's stress drain away would be lovely too.  She just wanted an equal, a friend.  She wanted Alfie.  

She blinked at the realisation, and with a nod, she swung the door back shut and locked up again.  She didn't know if he wanted to see her, or even if he was home, but the suddenly she longed to be in the familiar rooms, sit in front of his cosy fireplace, play with the rags they'd knotted up for Peaches.  She missed that dopey dog. 

When she rounded the corner and saw Alfie's house, the quiet, darkened windows told her that she wasn't going to be feeling less lonely tonight, but the slide of her key in the lock told her that maybe it'd be alright anyway.  She smiled as the door swung inward, pleased that she had this ability when no one else did.  Rowena had a key, obviously, but Alfie had given Mabel one a few months ago "just in case", and she'd never actually used it before.  She'd either been with Alfie, or Rowena had let her in.  The power was sort of going to her head.  She might just do something crazy like buy a new bookshelf or hang a painting.  She stifled a giggle and crossed the threshold, and at the last second remembered that there was now a dog in the house.  A dog who might not be ok with someone entering at an odd time without warning, especially someone who wasn't Alfie.  The silly dog worshipped Alfie, it was almost embarrassing.  She would follow him to the bathroom if she could.  As it was, she waited patiently outside whatever door he'd disappeared behind until he emerged again.  She walked around the house with him, and when he sat, she rested her head on his foot.  

Mabel needn't have worried, as it turned out.  When the door creaked open, she entered the house and took a quick look around, expecting Peaches to be on guard somewhere since she hadn't already met her at the door barking her fool head off.  Instead, she found her curled in her bed in the kitchen, raising her head when Mabel walked into the room, her tongue lolling out.

"Hey pretty girl, good job scaring off the intruder. Nice to know we won't have to worry while you're on the job,"  Mabel teased, reaching to scratch behind her ears.  "Hey, what have you got there?"  She reached into the bed where Peaches and pulled out Alfie's shoe.  "Oh no, Peaches!" 

But when Mabel looked at it, it wasn't bitten or chewed.  "Huh," she said quietly, turning the shoe over in her hands.  "Maybe you're done chewing on shoes, then?  Because that would be nice."  She was already sporting a pair of shoes with a few teeth marks in them, she didn't really have the money to buy another pair.  Well, she supposed she could find the money if she really needed to, but these were her favourite work shoes and she'd gotten them back home.  She'd have to find a new cobbler in London at some point, but she didn't really want to.  

While she was lost in thought, Peaches got up from where she'd been resting and came to nose at Mabel's hand.  Mabel petted her obligingly, noticing the collar that Alfie had purchased for her.  The brown leather looked handsome against her red fur and had quite a few more notches to go up as she grew bigger.  Peaches was still growing into her paws and had the gangly teenager look of a puppy just growing out of their cuteness.  Slowly, like she was testing Mabel's reaction, Peaches gently retrieved Alfie's shoe from Mabel's grip.  She carried the shoe back to her bed and turned around once before settling back in, resting her head on the shoe and sighing heavily.  

"Aww, you miss him too, huh?"  Mabel smiled fondly at the dog and giving her a few more scratches.  "Yeah, I know.  I know.  Well, what if I let you sleep on the bed, just for tonight?  Would that be a little better?"  Mabel kissed the top of Peaches' head and received a warm tongue on her chin in return.  Then she stood, stretched, and breathed in the comforting scents of the house, feeling a little better already.  

"I'm going to take a bath, Peach.  You know why?  Because I can.  You wanna go outside?  Yeah?  Outside?"  Mabel laughed at the way Peaches jumped up at the word and danced around her feet as she walked to the back door.  She kept up a running commentary for the dog's sake before letting her out and going to draw a bath.  Mabel added her favourite oils to the water, sighing happily and slipping into the tub to soak for as long as she wanted because there was no one there to tell her otherwise.  Finally, she heard a scratching at the door and her toes were getting pruny anyway so she pulled the plug, cleaned up the bathroom, and shrugged on Alfie's dressing gown.  

It was a strange thrill to walk around the big, empty house by herself.  She felt like she'd slipped behind the rope at the museum and was somewhere she shouldn't be.  She let Peaches in, padded to the living room, and selected a book from Alfie's overflowing shelves.  She contemplated lighting a fire in the cold fireplace, just because she'd been thinking about it before, but decided against it.  Instead, she took her book and her dog and curled up in Alfie's bed.  It was too big and too empty without him, but Peaches lay next to her and it was alright.  She was alright.  When her eyes grew heavy, she set the book aside, buried her face in Alfie's pillow, and felt Peaches settle into the crook behind her knees.  Tomorrow was another day, tomorrow would be better, and until then, Mabel felt warm, loved, and safe.

* * *

 

Alfie turned the key in the lock, the usual excited whines coming from the other side of the door.  The sun was just beginning to stain the clouds pink, and he was more than ready for bed.  He opened the door to Peaches jumping on him, her entire back half wagging so hard he thought she might fall over.  She grinned, the way only happy dogs can grin, licked his hands, head butting him when he squatted down next to her to give her a good scratch, then spun in joyful circles a few times before coming back to jump and lick again.  Well, at least someone was glad to see him.  

Then, Alfie took a deep breath. 

"Mabel?" he called quietly, his voice echoing in the empty hall.  Peaches continued to jump and dance, ready to play, but Alfie was beginning to feel a warm glow in his chest.  Did she really come to welcome him back?  How did she even know when he'd be back?  He hadn't even known.  He saw her coat on the coat rack and couldn't stop the sappy smile that flitted behind his moustache.  Damn witch.

Alfie let Peaches outside, then headed for the only room Mabel could be in.  He paused in the doorway to the bedroom and took in the sight before him.  Mabel's curves wrapped in his dressing gown, her long brown curls splayed across the pillows, and her laying diagonally across the large bed.  There was a suspicious depression in the duvet right behind her knees that Alfie suspected had held a bundle of fur moments earlier.  He could see her work clothes laid out neatly on the chair, her slightly chewed shoes tucked underneath.  He undressed quickly, then slid in beside her, gathering her up to his chest so he could smell her hair.  She made a soft, happy sound as she curled into him and warmth flooded him down to his toes.

"There's dog hair all over my fuckin' bed, woman," he rumbled softly, stroking her long curls and running his palm over her shoulders and down her arm.

"Mmm," she hummed with her eyes closed, snuggling closer.  "There's me all over your bed too."

He huffed out a laugh and buried his nose in the space under her ear, breathing deeply.  He swore she was like a balm on his soul, everything about her plucking all the right strings on his heart. 

 

 

He could feel the effects of his breath on her skin was having on her.  If Mabel had an on/off switch, this would be it.  He let his exhale cast over her neck, his nose teasing the soft skin there and he could feel her open to him.  Her head tilted back slightly, giving him better access to her long, elegant neck, her shoulders rolled back, her knee moved out just a bit, enough to allow him to press even closer.  So he did.  By the time he opened his lips and let his warm breath brush over her, he could feel her break out into goosebumps.  He touched the tip of his tongue to her neck and it was like she'd been zapped by static electricity.  He could feel her jolt and her fingers curled in his chest hair.  Smiling to himself, he let his tongue run one quick stripe up her neck, then end on her earlobe.  The effect was instantaneous.  Magic.  She almost caught the tiny sound that she made in the back of her throat, but not quite.  He kissed his way along her strong jaw, the faint cleft of her chin, and then captured her lips to soak up any other sounds she saw fit to let escape.  He treasured every one.  

"Mabel," he asked in between sips of kisses, "how did you know?"

"Hmm?" she said, sounding dazed.  "How did I know what?"

Alfie parted the robe she was wearing to slip his hand inside and __groaned__ when he found she was naked underneath. "How did you know," he kissed down her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath his lips, "that I..." his train of thought was getting hazy the further down her body he moved, "needed you?"  He was in the process of leaving wet kissing down the top slope of her breast with two hands deliciously full of Mabel and doing his damnedest not to throw his leg over her and take her right then and there, which was why when she stilled and pulled back, it took him a few seconds to realise what he'd just said.

He stopped to look her in the eye.  His pulse was elevated, his breathing quickened, and he was already painfully hard because she was a damned witch.  Surely she wasn't questioning that he wanted her.  But he hadn't said 'wanted'.  He'd said 'needed', and that was quite a bit different.  Alfie Solomons needed no one.  Ever.  Except...except for the times in between those times.  The crevices of his life, the small, ever-present ones that were quiet and dull and empty--those had been significantly less so this past year.  Mabel had worked her way into them.

"Because I needed you, too," she murmured sincerely.

Alfie swallowed.  "Fuckin' hell," he gritted out, his voice gruff with want around the lump in his throat.  He moved his too rough, too big hands to frame her beautiful face, his calloused thumbs sweeping her cheekbones.  "That's a filthy lie and I know it," he said gently, watching as her eyes softened.  "You're a damned witch."  Then he kissed her.  He kissed her the way he wanted to kiss her every time he saw her, opening her mouth with slow swipes of his tongue, pushing her, making her push back.  She kissed him back with the same ferocity and he couldn't help the rush of arousal in his bloodstream when she surged beneath him, challenging him, giving as good as she got.  This woman.  This _woman._   She was...everything. 

Alfie was no poet.  He couldn't do her justice, even in his own head.  He was not a man of words, he never would be.  So he tried to show her.  Alfie used his mouth, his hands, his body and tried to show her exactly what she was to him.  Exactly what he saw when he looked at her.  Exactly how she made him feel.  He hoped she understood.  The few tears he kissed away from the corner of her eyes said she might have some idea, but he knew she could never fully understand exactly.  He would just have to keep showing her and hope she didn't get bored in the meantime.

"Witch."


	8. DIY Empowerment

Mabel groaned and stretched and without opening her eyes she knew it was too early to be awake.  The light was too soft, the bed was too warm, there was entirely too much Alfie draped over her.  She snuggled down into his warmth, the hairs on his chest tickling her.  He looked about ten years younger when he slept, his plush bottom lip peeking out of his beard with every exhale and she felt the dopey grin on her face just looking at him.  She wanted to trace his cheekbones, his aquiline nose, his beautiful mouth, pressing kisses into every bit of him, but her bladder was screaming at her and she realised something as she lay there.  Something momentous.  Something game-changing.  Something to write home about.  She realised that she couldn't hear a single pot or pan being clattered.  

_'Maybe Rowena has decided to forgive me for whatever it is she thinks I've done to her,'_  she guessed.   _'Or maybe she didn't notice I was here.  Or maybe she's trying to tell us that she approves of our relationship, finally!'_   Mabel tossed the covers aside and hurried to get ready for the day.  Alfie didn't even move.

Mabel rushed through the bathroom (taps! on the bathtub! still can't stop being amazed!) and then caught a glimpse of the clock.   _'Oh.  Well, that's disappointing.'_ Rowena wasn't even there yet.  Mabel had just gone to bed so early last night, tired from the day and wrung out emotionally, that she hadn't even considered what that might do to her sleep schedule.  Well, she had promised to go in early today.  Plus, now she didn't have to do the walk of shame in front of the formidable housekeeper.  Mabel found a scrap of paper and, feeling like a juvenile and not caring one whit, pressed a lipstick print to it before propping it on her vacated pillow.  She ran her fingers lightly through Alfie's short, mussed hair, and when he didn't even stir, she made sure Peaches had food and water for the day and headed to the bakery.  

When she saw the line of people stretching from her office door, her first thought was that there'd been an emergency and she had to tamp down her fear, anxiety, and sheer annoyance that no one was following the emergency protocols.  Then she understood.   _'Oh, my,'_  she thought.   _'This is going to take all day.'_

And she wasn't wrong.  It turned out that most of her senior staff wanted a shot at being the foreman, especially since the bakery had gone mostly legitimate and there was significantly less chance of being shot by Alfie when he was in a bad mood.  Mabel rarely made people cry (ok, never) and she encouraged innovation in all aspects of the business.  There were a few people that she turned down flat because she already knew it wouldn't work and she wouldn't waste their time or hers.  There were several more who were bringing her suggestions on what to look for or possible people she might want to hire.  Or, in a few cases, do you know if there's any work for someone who can do x, y, or z?

She'd been at it for several hours when she looked up to see Rachel.  Mabel smiled, weary and glad for a friendly face.

"Hello, my dear.  What can I do for you?"

Rachel beamed at her.  "Well, I'd like to apply for the foreman position, of course."

Mabel very carefully did not let her confusion or surprise show.  Rachel was...Rachel.  She couldn't be a foreman.  "Why?" she asked calmly, making sure only her curiosity showed in her voice.

"Because I don't want to be a secretary forever, silly.  Who would?"

"But..." Mabel faltered, "you're actually really good at being a secretary."  She was at a loss for words.  Of anyone here, she never expected to see Rachel sitting across from her asking for a different position.  There were two girls in the front office, and their job was maintaining the "bakery" image so that everyone else could do their jobs.  They had quite a bit of paperwork forwarded their way once Mabel started handing out jobs, and they both did fairly well.

"Aw, thanks, love," Rachel smiled.  "But, I don't know, I mean, I look at you and I just think, "There's gotta be more to what I can do," ya know?'

And Mabel did know.  She knew in her bones what it felt like to want that something more and not have any idea how to get it for yourself.  Not only because you had no idea where to start, but because no one would even entertain the idea of helping you do it.  She had climbed so many mountains to get where she was, and if anyone had ever said to her that she should continue being a secretary because she was really good at it, she would have been so very, very angry with them.  And with herself.  But Rachel was sitting across from her smiling kindly, and waiting to hear her verdict.  

Mabel took a deep breath, thinking fast.  She gave Rachel back a smile and set her pencil down carefully.  "Rachel..."

"Uh oh," Rachel said chuckling, "I've heard that tone before!"  But Mabel could see the hurt and disappointment behind her smile.  Rachel tried to cover it by making like it was all a big joke, though.  She shrugged exaggeratedly, then stood to go.

"Wait, please," Mabel asked.  "Please, Rachel, sit down."  She waited, and eventually Rachel did, her smile a bit shakier and her eyes on her shoes.  "Look," Mabel started, "I trust you, Rachel, maybe more than you realise.  And now I want you to trust me.  Ok?  Can you do that for me, just for a few minutes?"

Rachel nodded, once, and Mabel nodded back.  "Ok, so here's the truth.  I can't make you foreman today, for a few different reasons.  But I have been where you are, and I've wanted what you want, and if you're serious," Mabel waited until Rachel met her eyes again before saying, "I'll help you."

Rachel nodded again, then started blinking fast past the tears that formed in her eyes.  

"Now stop that," Mabel warned.  "This is one of the reasons.  I'm going to give you a list of things that are keeping you from walking out of here with the foreman position today, and you're not going to look at them as criticisms, you're going to look at them as a to-do list.  You fix those things, and you come find me, and we'll talk.  That's how I'll know you're serious.  Ok?"

Rachel took a shaky breath and pasted her smile back on.  Mabel didn't smile back.  Then, she started to lay it out for her, carefully and slowly.  She didn't always show up for work on Monday morning, Mabel had found errors in her work before that could have been costly had they not been corrected, and she needed a thicker skin if she was going to be directing teams of men hired to doing illegal things. 

"If you're going to do this--if this is really what you want--your priorities are going to change.  You won't have the luxury of wanting people to like you.  You won't be able to date just anyone.  You will have to be prepared for people to try to get to this company through you.  It is a pretty big commitment.  So I want you to think about this carefully."  Mabel could see what she was saying was hitting home pretty hard and Rachel started looking a little apprehensive.  "In the meantime," Mabel said, backing off a bit, "I have a few other things I need doing that I could use your help with if you'd like a change of pace."  

"Oh," Rachel looked intrigued.  "What did you have in mind?"

So Mabel set her up with a small table outside her office, tasked with accepting applicants and weeding out questions that didn't have anything to do with the position.  It was a huge relief, and she actually got some things done in between talking to the ones Rachel had let in.  She was deep in it when she realised she hadn't been interrupted for at least 20 minutes and heaved a sigh and sent up a quick prayer of thanks.  Maybe she was done with this madness for today.  She looked at the watch swinging from her belt just as her stomach rumbled and she decided to take Rachel to lunch as thanks for her help.  She opened her door to invite her when she heard Rachel's voice.

"...it's not gonna happen, Travers."

"But...but I have experience!  See!  I wrote it down."  She saw Travers point at something on the paper he'd handed Rachel, who was doing her best to hand it back.

"I don't care, Travers.  You are going to need a much thicker skin if you're going to be directing teams of men hired to do illegal things.  I suggest you think about it."

Travers wilted with disappointment and took the paper back.  He shuffled off back down the hallway and Mabel cleared her throat.  She fixed Rachel with a look, who managed to look a little contrite, but Mabel couldn't really say anything about how she'd handled Travers because...well, she wasn't wrong.  Rachel rose and handed her a stack of papers.

"Here you go, boss, I put the most practical towards the top and added some of my own opinions on the back of each one.  You can take them or leave them, of course."

Mabel was impressed.  "Thanks," she said, accepting the stack.  "Do you want to grab some lunch?"

Rachel grinned.  "Sure do!  Let me get my coat."

When they were seated and eating, Mabel grilled her about her favourite candidates and then asked her about Travers.  "What do you see him doing if not the foreman position?"

Rachel licked her spoon and looked contemplative.  "Well," she started slowly, "he's very nice, a good listener, a people person.  I'm not sure where I'd put him, but he'd do really well in a job where he had to deal with customers.  I don't know that I'd put him in a position with any authority, but he would do a good job of making people feel heard."

Mabel nodded, satisfied, and explained what she'd been thinking about all morning.  "Rachel, you're good at this, recognising people's strengths and weaknesses.  And based on my experience this morning, it seems like we need someone that would be good at matching up people with a job that's right for them.  Lord knows, there's a lot of out-of-work people out there, and if the places that are hiring are anything like mine, they can't exactly run an advert in the paper."  She watched for Rachel's reaction as she continued.  "You could charge people a small fee, help them write a list of their qualifications, and point them in the right direction.  Hell, if you'd give me first pick, I'd get you some start up money and you could make it a real business."  Rachel's face was neutral, just taking it all in.  Mabel wasn't sure how she was taking it, seeing as how she'd just suggested to someone that applied for a promotion that she get a different job altogether.  "What do you say?"

Rachel took a drink and licked her lips.  "I say," she took a breath, "when do I start?"

Mabel couldn't stop the grin that broke out on her face.  "Well, I'd ask that you not leave until after I've the new foreman in place, and if you could still come in a few hours a week after that until I'm sure they're ready, I'd appreciate it.  But you can start working on it now, just let me know when you'll be out."

Rachel grinned back.  "I don't know what to say, boss."

"Well, I do."  Mabel spit in her hand and held it out.  "Congratulations."

Rachel grimaced and looked at Mabel in horror.  

Mabel laughed, long and hard, before grasping Rachel's wrist and making her shake.  She chuckled while Rachel wiped her palm with her handkerchief and then paid for their meal, including a very generous tip because she rarely felt such a sense of accomplishment over her lunch break.  

In fact, she felt sort of invincible.  When she got back to her office, she took the stack of paperwork that Rachel had given her and flipped until she found the first woman's name, about four down in the stack.  

"Wilma Fitzgerald," she said to herself.  There were no notes on the back.   She had factory experience in the war so she didn't seem unqualified.  "Huh."

"Rachel, what about this one?" she asked, curious.  "You don't have any notes."  

Rachel looked it over and shrugged.  "I didn't have any strong feelings one way or another.  Is she the one you're thinking, boss?"

Mabel nodded, slowly.  "It feels like a good day for empowering women, what do you think?"

Rachel grinned.  "I feel like that every day."


	9. DIY Roles

Mabel tried not to gape at the woman standing on the other side of her desk. She looked at the sheet in front of her, where she'd written in precise handwriting, _Wilma Fitzgerald-foreman? 8 am,_ to make sure she had the right date and time for meeting the woman who'd applied for the job. It was. But the person in front of her could not be Wilma. The Wilma in her head was old, bristle-haired, and possibly grouchy. This Wilma was young, blonde and lovely, and seemed to vibrate with energy. She was wearing a cream-coloured linen dress that Mabel knew she would have made a smudged and wrinkled mess of before even getting it over her head, but which this woman seemed to wear in perfection as easy as breathing. _'How?'_ Mabel wondered. _'I must have failed that aspect of womanhood because I'm positive that's something I'll_ _never_ _be able to do.'_

Mabel cleared her throat and stuck out her hand. "Hello. Mabel Ziemann."

The woman greeted her with a wide, honest smile and Mabel relaxed a bit.

"Hello," she began, "Wilma Fitzgerald. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Will you sit?" Mabel gestured to the chairs and waited for her to take a seat before sitting herself. "Ms Fitzgerald, thank you for coming in today. I wanted to discuss the foreman position we have open. I got your qualifications from a friend of yours, but could you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Well, to begin, call me Wilma, please," she started. "It's my brother that works for you, actually, I asked him to drop them off. I was looking for work and he mentioned something, and it seemed too coincidental for it to not be a sign."

Mabel smiled encouragingly and asked about her qualifications.

"I worked in a munitions factory during the war. I mostly worked the floor, but towards the end, I dealt more with the planning and organising aspect of the business, and I also handled a lot of high profile customer interactions. Actually, that's where I met Danny, my husband."

"Oh, you're married?" It shouldn't have surprised her; they were the same age, or close to it, and women were getting married much younger for centuries. Wilma seemed so... full of _life_ , though. Like she might leave here to go dancing or swim the Channel or challenge the Pope to a game of double dutch.

"Yes, I am, although to be honest, I forget I am sometimes!" Her bright laugh twinkled in the air. "He's in the Royal Navy, so he's gone a lot. He's gone now, actually. I'm lucky, though. I have a little tiny version of Danny at home to remind me of him."

It took Mabel a moment to process what she'd said. Then she blurted, "Oh, you're a mum too!"

Wilma smiled, her whole posture softening. "Yes, I am." Then she looked up, stiffening. "That won't be a problem, will it?"

Mabel felt back on familiar footing. "You tell me. Will it?"

Wilma responded without hesitation. "Absolutely not. My son is my life, but my work is how I define myself outside of him. All I ask is for an opportunity to define myself in a way that makes me proud." Her eyes glinted with a fierce fire and Mabel smiled, genuine and full. She liked Wilma. She had been expecting something different, but the truth was Wilma Fitzgerald was honestly and completely likeable. The determination in her face reminded her of her dear friend Hazel, and her positive attitude was catching.

"That's all I ask of you, too," Mabel finally settled on.

Wilma broke into a smile. "Does that mean I get the job?"

Mabel smiled back. "It's yours if you want it, Wilma. Welcome to the bakery."

Wilma threw her head back, her laugh loud and full of delight and her hands flew to her face. "Oh, I'm so excited! Thank you so much for giving me a chance, I can't wait to tell my mum!" Her eyes glowed, and she tried to tamp down her grin. "She's watching Dan right now. I think she owes me a drink."

Wilma winked at Mabel and Mabel tried to ignore the tiny flare of something in her gut as she spoke about her mother. _Was that jealousy? I don't even want a relationship like that with my mother. Do I?_ She shoved the thought far, far away from her and tried to focus on the exuberant woman in front of her. "You call your husband Danny and your son Dan?" Wilma laughed again and Mabel chuckled in response. Her laugh was contagious, it seemed.

"It suits him, he's an old soul. You should meet him sometime, you'd agree with me."

"I'd like that," Mabel said, surprising herself. Kids weren't her cup of tea, but something about the way Wilma lit up when she was talking about him made Mabel curious. It was like she was talking about a long-time friend rather than her child.

The sentiment seemed to please Wilma, who stood and pumped Mabel's hand. "Ms Ziemann, I am absolutely thrilled to be joining your team. I will be in straight away tomorrow morning and we can get started."

Mabel stood also and surprised herself again by saying, "Mabel, please. And do you have time for a quick tour now?"

Wilma beamed. "I'd love one."

So Mabel spent the next hour on a slow stroll through the stacks, across the production floor, breathing rooms, and storage and introduced Wilma to anyone around. Her glowing face, linen dress, and winning smile were like a breath of fresh air on the production floor. She met each man with polite respect, but an air of authority that benefited the role she would play come tomorrow. Mabel couldn't have been more pleased. Wilma handled the crew like a pro, winning their almost instantaneous respect and setting herself in a leadership position from the get-go. There were more than a few lingering glances as they headed to the next area, but Wilma didn't seem concerned.

"I think you may have a few admirers after today," Mabel quipped as they headed back to her office.

Wilma tipped her a knowing look and held the door for her. "I'm sure you've had your share of infatuations to deal with in the working world, someone as beautiful as you. They seem harmless, and I'm not worried. I can take care of myself."

Mabel blinked, pleased by the compliment. It was true she'd spent a good portion of her early days in the workforce establishing she was not a free-for-all lunch menu. But she'd been working for quite a few years more than Wilma it seemed, if the marriage and child were any indication, and yet Wilma had an almost uncanny ability to deal with this group of men.

Wilma was impressive. There was no other way for Mabel to describe her. Tomorrow, she thought, would be a very interesting day.

* * *

It had been a long fucking day, and all Alfie wanted was a drink and maybe some dinner before he fell into bed and oblivion. His front door was locked when he tried to open it, so Rowena was gone for the day then, and he sighed. On one hand that meant no dinner, on the other, it meant he didn't have to deal with people and pleasantries for a few hours.

He took his hat and coat off before realising that Peaches hadn't met him at the door and he paused, all senses on alert. He took a deep breath and smelled her a moment before he saw her.

"Mabe?" he asked as she came down the hall. "What's going-" but she was rushing at him, covering his mouth with her hand.

"Oh, fuck, what are you doing here? He'll be back any minute!" she whispered furiously.

He stared at her stupidly. "What?" was all he got out before she was on him, her mouth devouring his, her hands under his shirt as she pushed him against the front door.

"Mmph," he grunted as he slammed into the wood. "Who will?" he managed as she broke away, going for his flies.

"My boyfriend," she said as she sunk to her knees in front of him, her eyes wide and innocent. "He can't find you here, he'd be so angry. You have to hurry and fuck me before he gets back."

And he hadn't been hard before she'd pulled him out of his pants, but god damn if that didn't do it for him. She started with little kitten licks and staring up at him with those huge eyes from her spot on the floor. When her soft, pink lips parted to suckle just around the tip, Alfie groaned and threw his head back against the door, already short of breath. She made tiny sounds as he filled up the inside of her mouth, her tongue doing obscene things to him.

"Holy fuck, woman," he gritted out as she swallowed him down, her fist meeting her mouth when she couldn't take any more. Then she hollowed her cheeks and pulled back before slurping him down again. She set up a rhythm, her method messy and tortuously slow. He grabbed her when he couldn't take another second and hauled her up against him.

"Hurry," she said again, her lips shiny in the fading light. "He could be back any minute."

"Then get in the living room," he said, swatting her on the bum just a little too hard. Her eyes flew wide, and she nodded and scurried away. He took a quick calming breath and ran a hand over his face before he followed her. He was jutting ridiculously from the front of his trousers, so he pushed them down and sat in his chair to remove his shoes.

"Oh, I don't think he'd like you sitting there," Mabel warned, and he lost his train of thought as she shimmied out of her knickers and stockings, then lifted her dress over her head. "That's his favourite chair."

"Is that right?" he growled, his head full of her and never mind the fucking shoes. "Then get over here."

She was wearing the peach chemise today, his favourite. He spun her around and sat her in his lap, her perfect round bum sliding on his thighs. He lifted the fabric just enough to get his hands under it and revelled in the feel of the silk over his hands and the silky skin under them.

"I like this one," he purred in her ear and watched her shudder.

"So..." she faltered and licked her lips, her eyes closed. "So does he."

He teased her nipples and she moaned. "Not anymore," he demanded. "You wear this one for me."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, and God, he was hard. She was fucking crazy, and he loved it. He lifted the lingerie off of her, using every movement to touch her, then ran his hands back down her perfect skin. Her delectable arse framed his cock and he couldn't stop touching her, pulling her cheeks apart and sliding in between them, his cock still slick from her mouth. He thrust between her cheeks, the view too delicious to ignore, until she breathed, "Hurry, put it in me," and he groaned and hurried to comply.

Alfie lifted her so she could sit down on him, and she was so, so wet. He felt his eyes roll back in his head as she sank down onto his full length, her breathy moan about to undo him. He needed a minute, so he grabbed her by the long curls and pulled her so her ear was next to his mouth.

"I am going to fuck you in this chair," he growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and a small sound escaped her sweet mouth. "And then every time you're in this room," he watched her throat work as she swallowed, "every time you see him sitting here," swallow, "I want you to think of this."

Then he thrust into her, hard, and she cried out, wanton and moaning, before thrusting back. Then they were moving together, her arse slapping his thighs and his hands on her hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks. She could wind him up so fast, and she knew it. He knew she loved being in control like this, her thighs flexing as she drew herself up before sinking down onto him again, rolling her hips deliciously.

He listened to her "Oh, oh, oh's" get higher and faster, before she whined, "Hurry, he's coming," her voice breaking on the last syllable.

"God damn right he is." And he did, hard and fast, and she shuddered around him, milking him. He gathered her to him, resting his head between her shoulder blades while he groaned out the last of his release. This woman. This _woman_. He would never, ever get enough of her. She leant forward, letting him slip free and he ran a hand up her back. Then Mabel stood and stretched and he watched the peach silk brush the tops of her thighs as she slipped back into her chemise. Alfie thought she was entirely too composed, especially in contrast to him, sweaty and come-stained as he tried to pull himself together. Eventually, he gave up and sat there boneless and panting while she pulled her dress back on. She fluffed her hair once, then turned and caught his eye.

"Oh, Alfie! I didn't see you there. Welcome home. There's dinner in the kitchen if you're hungry." She dropped a peck on his lips before disappearing into the kitchen, humming.

He sat there, out of breath and a total fucking mess, and huffed out a laugh. Fucking hell. Maybe, though, it wasn't such a bad day after all if it ended like that.

When he managed to gather himself back together, discarding his sweaty shirt and kicking off his shoes, he padded into the kitchen in his trousers to find her reheating food on the stove and putting it on a plate. He watched her for a moment, the damp tendrils of hair on her neck, the way her bare feet stretched when she reached in the cupboard above the sink. Almost of their own volition, his hands found her hips, smoothing the fabric over them, then skating around her waist to pull her towards him. She sank into his arms, compliant and pliable, but still moving to get him his dinner. He shoved down the fluttery feeling in his chest and squeezed her a little too hard, getting in her way and nosing her neck where she was ticklish. She squawked and swatted at him, but he could hear her smile. He could feel his own answering smile and pressed a kiss into the back of her head.

"Stay tonight," he said gruffly, not asking but hoping she'd know it was a question anyway.

She craned her head around to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "Okay," she chirped and the fluttery feeling was back. "Now do you want this food, or not?"

He tried to memorise her face once again, then nodded. She nodded back solemnly, mocking him, then grinned and pushed him towards the chair. And while he ate, she chatted about her day, her new foreman, her insecurities, her hopes. The words spilt out of her like it was easy, she shared herself with him without reservation or agenda and it was almost as refreshing as the sex, the food, and the peace of being home. When she got done and asked him how his day was, he heard himself responding. She listened to him about a recent uptick in tobacco prices after the war which had left people scrambling for cheap tobacco and his shit luck in finding a supplier in London since the recent train robbery.

"A fucking train robbery. In this day and age." He huffed his breath out his nose in frustration. It was reckless and flashy and annoyingly effective, which meant more than likely that those Birmingham fucks had something to do with it.

"Well, why don't you think on a more global scale?"

He paused, eyes on hers, the thought chain her simple words had inspired spiralling outward in his mind.

"Mmph," he said, considering.

"You could go straight to the source in, say, America, then work out control for some of the shipping." She took the empty plate from him and stood. "In fact," she mused, " if you can get that, you could do quite a bit with it."

"I could, could I?"

She grinned at him over her shoulder as she scrubbed the plate. "Sure. You just need to dream a little bigger, darling."

"Mmph."


	10. DIY Confidante

Wilma fidgeted as Mabel stared down at the report she had finished scanning, then at the woman in front of her.

"Wilma, I need to read this in more detail, but let me tell you something first," Mabel insisted. She leant across her desk with her hand flat the report as if to keep it from escaping. "If you ever even consider getting a job elsewhere, you come find me, because I _will_ find a way to keep you here. It might involve some kind of tether, but I'll find a way."

Wilma's cheeks pinked, but her eyes danced with excitement. "Do you think it'll work? I mean, could we try it?"

"I think it's bloody brilliant, and I wish I'd thought of it myself."

"Eek!" Wilma squeaked, clapping her hands. "I'm so glad you think so, I worried you'd say it was too expensive."

Mabel smirked, knowing she couldn't exactly reveal that she had a substantial financial backer, but she wouldn't be surprised if Wilma knew anyway. "Startup costs are always a consideration, but we have to plan long term. And while I'm thrilled by this prospect, it's so innovative and interesting, I'm equally impressed by all the work and research you put into this. How did you get all this information?"

"Oh," Wilma flapped her hand dismissively, "I kept asking around until I got the answers I wanted. It's a big fault of mine, actually. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed."

"Hadn't noticed?!" Mabel gaped at her. "You talked to sugar cane suppliers from half way around the world." Mabel held up the file she's received that morning from Wilma's tentative grasp. "You have research in here that would take me months to dig up, even with all the resources at my beck and call. I could kiss you right now, do you know that?"

"Better not," Wilma teased. "Danny's ship's still not back. It's been a while. I might forget myself."

"Oh no, still?" Mabel dropped the file back on her desk and turned her eyes on her friend, all trace of laughter dried up. "But you said he was due back a few days ago." Mabel knew she and Dan had been counting down the days on a big chalkboard in his room. Poor kid would be devastated.

Wilma shrugged, trying to hide her troubled eyes. "He was scheduled to be back in port, but they got re-routed and he'll be out at least another three weeks. This is the longest I've gone without seeing him since I was pregnant."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Wilma. That sounds terrible." Mabel gave her what she hoped was a supportive smile.

Wilma smiled in return, a real one, and a shrug. "That's okay, I'm a big girl, I can get by. When he comes home though, I'm warning you now. I might have to take a few days off to get caught back up if you know what I mean. These dry spells are a killer."

Mabel laughed, her head thrown back and her eyes watering. "Well, consider it vacation well-earned. I definitely know about dry spells. I've got one of my own going on now too, so I feel your pain."

Wilma chuckled too. "Yeah? Any end in site for yours?"

Mabel smiled, shaking her head ruefully. Wilma knew she was dating someone, but she didn't know who, and Mabel was light on the details. She couldn't resist talking about him a little though, now that she had a girlfriend to share stories with. "I'm not sure. He's just been so busy, and I mean, I have too, but..." Mabel sighed. "The last time I talked to him, he said he hoped he wouldn't have to go to America, and I've been dreading it in the back of my mind ever since."

Because, of course, Alfie had run with her idea and she had barely seen him since. They'd exchanged a few kisses when she'd stopped by, which were pretty damn good kisses. In most circumstances, those kisses would have lead to more, but he always got called away and she _missed_ him. When he finished with this tobacco deal, she would drag him to bed and take her own few days off to catch up.

"I've got it."

Mabel blinked out of her reverie. "Got what?"

"The cure for our moping. Let's go out tonight and go dancing."

"Oh," Mabel hesitated. She was supposed to be getting ready for her parent's visit-they were coming on Monday, and she had done nothing about a guest room. Granted, her small flat didn't yield a slew of options, but she should at least put together an effort of making them comfortable. "Well..."

"Come on, it'll be fun. Just us girls. Please? I can't remember the last time I did something that didn't involve Dan."

Mabel looked into her pleading eyes and decided she already spent too much time worrying about her parents and not enough time being a whole person outside of work. She needed a night out and she needed to remember who she was. The temptress that was the beat, the sway of bodies, the thrill that climbed her limbs and demanded to be shaken out called to her.

Mabel's eyes sparkled. "Ok, yes. You talked me into it."

"Fantastic! I'll run home after work and ask my mum to keep an eye on Dan. Want me to pick you up?"

A nod and it was decided, and Mabel rushed to get the rest of her work done so she could leave her desk and mind clear and immerse herself. She gave Wilma her address and ran to her flat to change and retouch her hair and makeup. She hadn't been out for so long, and she would not miss out on the opportunity to live it up a little. Alfie wasn't exactly a dancing kind of guy. She smiled at the thought of taking him to a club. He'd, no doubt, stand on the edge of the dance floor with his arms folded, surrounded by his men and scowling at everyone until they scurried away. It was ludicrous, but she felt fondness for him seeping through her at the thought. He was, truly, a ridiculous and terrifying man, and she wouldn't trade him for the world.

She heard the beep of the cab, fluffed her hair once more in the glass, and grabbed her bag. This would be fun.

Wilma looked amazing, and Mabel wasn't the least surprised. She looked even more excited than Mabel though, if that was possible, and so when she insisted she knew just the place, Mabel was happy to ride along. They ended up at a newer club that Mabel had heard of but hadn't ever been to. She knew nothing about it although she was sure Alfie had a file somewhere about them. She vowed to stop thinking about work though, so she grabbed Wilma's hand and drug her to the dance floor as soon as they paid for the cab. Mabel couldn't stop smiling. The dancers crowded the floor, but the band was fantastic and Mabel could feel the stress of the week slip off her shoulders. She bounced from dance partner to dance partner, but keeping Wilma in sight at all times, just like she used to do when she and Hazel would go out.

Just as Mabel thought about taking a break, she saw Wilma looking for her and made her way over. Wilma smiled in excitement and drug her to the bar where they stopped to catch their breath. The bartender tapped Wilma on the shoulder and when she turned with surprise, handed her a fancy looking cocktail.

"From the gentleman," he gestured to the back, and a sharp looking man with a pencil-thin moustache tipped a non-existant hat her way. Wilma gave a cheery wave and raised the accepted glass in a good-natured salute. Then she turned away to take her first drink and focused on Mabel. Mabel struggled to keep the laugh from her lips. Wilma had effectively turned the poor soul down while making him smile and getting a free drink all at the same time.

"Can I get you anything, miss?"

Mabel turned her attention to the bartender and drew a deep breath. "Yes! I'd like a glass of your finest rum, please."

He looked at her doubtfully, but placed a tumbler on the bar and filled it without comment. She paid him and swirled the glass, letting herself smell it first before taking a sip.

"Oh, sweet Lord," Mabel coughed violently into the back of her hand, reaching for her handkerchief from her bag. She hurried to put the glass on the bar, hoping the bartender was out of earshot of her less-than-respectful reaction.

"You alright?" Wilma asked, rushing to Mabel's side and patting her back.

"Oh, that is just bloody awful." Mabel gagged and pushed the glass far away from her. "I will stick to water if that's what they're calling alcohol in this place." She shuddered and Wilma chuckled hesitantly, worry still written on her face. Mabel rolled her eyes to show she was kidding. "I wonder who their supplier is, they should-no, wait, no no nononono, I'm not thinking about work tonight." She grinned at Wilma, who still hadn't lost her look of concern. "I'm alright, honest. So," she changed the subject, turning toward the stage, "tell me you love this band as much as I do."

"Oh, aren't they wonderful?" Wilma shifted her attention from Mabel to the group of men spilling jazz music over the crowd in front of them. "You know, I heard the trombone player is from New Orleans."

"Reeeeeally?" Mabel's eyes lit with interest and she switched to watch the trombone player's dark, handsome face. He must have felt her gaze because he looked up and locked eyes with her. He played on, but didn't break eye contact with Mabel, and she could feel her cheeks heating. She fought a grin at the attention, feeling flustered, and looked at her shoes, her handbag, and the ceiling instead of looking back at him. When her eyes flitted, inevitably, back to his, sure enough, he was still watching her and she blushed even more. She drew a shaky breath and turned to look at Wilma, who was also watching her and smiling, a knowing look in her eyes.

"Want me to find out his name?"

Mabel's smile fell from her lips and gave Wilma an odd look. "No, that's not necessary." The band played the last trill of the song, dragging it out before they shifted into the next number, Mabel took care to turn her back toward the trombone player.

Wilma must have picked up on the shift in Mabel's mood because she dropped it and took one last sip of her drink. "Well, let's dance, then! I've got a curfew, after all."

Mabel was grateful for her ability to let it alone, but she wondered at the comment for the rest of the night. She and Wilma talked about their relationships sparingly, Wilma more than Mabel, and Mabel was very careful about what she said about Alfie. For example, she never said Alfie's name, although it wasn't strictly a secret. She didn't really talk to anyone about the fact that she was sleeping with one of the most dangerous men in London. She also didn't advertise the nature of their relationship, although Wilma knew she was not exactly a blushing virgin. And while she was sure there was plenty of talk out on the floor, she was hoping Wilma was above listening to it. Still, Mabel was very much a one-man-woman, and she had it pretty bad for the grumpy, crusty, sharp-tongued gangster. Was she not advertising her unavailability? Did Alfie worry she was flirting with other men when she went out? _Was_ she flirting with other men? Mabel's stomach churned, and she danced, but her heart was not in it anymore. She kept a smile plastered on her face because she wouldn't let thoughts of a non-present Alfie ruin yet another night. At least, she wouldn't let it appear that way.

Before too long, though, she was begging off with Wilma, complaining of an upset stomach and saying she'd be happy to pay for half of Wilma's cab home. But Wilma gracefully agreed to leave together, kissing the air near her dance partner's cheek and extracting herself from his grasp.

Wilma asked her no less than four times if she was okay, and Mabel assured her each time she was fine, just tired, unused to so much excitement. She gave Wilma a heartfelt hug when the cab dropped her at her front door and assured her she'd be in the next morning, bright and early. When she finally climbed in bed, she practised loading her pistol, the pearl handles warm in her palm and the bullets smooth and familiar. When her eyelids drooped, she set the gun on the bedside table and curled around one pillow, pulling a second against the small of her back. She longed for Alfie's constant warmth pressed against her but eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

She made good on her promise to meet Wilma bright and early the next morning, but she felt, and knew she looked, terrible. Her stomach was still hurting, this time in earnest, and she longed for her bed, even though she'd tossed and turned the previous night.

"Alright, that's it," Wilma announced, entering her office without waiting for an answer to her brisk knock.

Mabel couldn't even summon the energy to make a snarky comment, just waited for Wilma to continue.

"What is going on with you? Are you really that mad at me for last night? Christ, Mabel, it was a joke," Wilma said with exasperation, hands on her hips.

Mabel blinked at her, an odd sense of relief bleeding through her fog. "Oh, it was? I wasn't actually sure..." Mabel trailed off. "To be honest, I'm just feeling a little under the weather today." She offered a shaky smile. "I'm sure I'll be right as rain after I get some lunch." Which was a lie because the word 'lunch' made Mabel's stomach give a precarious lurch.

"Oh," Wilma said, then a little louder, "Oh!"

Mabel looked up, eyebrows drawn together.

"Mabel," Wilma hissed, "you're not pregnant, are you?"

She opened her mouth to protest, then her stomach flip-flopped and she immediately pressed her lips together again. She shook her head sharply at Wilma, her lips frowning her displeasure, but she said nothing else because the floor had just fallen out from underneath her. Because God forbid, what if she _was_? She wasn't though. She furiously pushed down her nausea and tried to count back the days in her head. When had she last had her monthly? _Was_ she? Oh, God, no, NO.

Wilma apologised over and over, her embarrassment plain, and begged Mabel to forget she'd said anything before she excused herself, but the damage was done. Mabel knew, however, she wouldn't be getting anything accomplished today. After an hour of pushing unseen papers around on her desk, she shoved everything in the top drawer and locked up.

She turned the key in the lock on her office door, her damp forehead resting on the cool glass and she took a deep, shuddering breath. She pushed the door open once again. Mabel reached for the phone on her desk and spoke rapid fire into the handset. While she waited to be connected, she shifted her weight from foot to foot and tried to stop her brain from spinning out of control. The back of her hand brushed her skirt and she stilled. Almost of its own accord, her hand drifted to her flat stomach and she spread her fingers over the fabric. Mabel imagined, just for a moment, the swell of a life inside her, the flutter of a kick, the tickle of lips kissing the skin of her swollen abdomen. It was with this image, of Alfie's shaggy head bent reverently over her and the life they'd created, that a brash voice trumpeted in her ear. She almost dropped the telephone she forgot she was holding.

"Oh, hello, Rachel? Yes, it's Mabel Ziemann. Hello dear, how are you? That's wonderful, I'm so glad to hear it. Yes, you can stop by next week if you have time. No, I'd be happy to, we can go over it together. Next Friday would be wonderful. Well, no, as a matter of fact, I wasn't calling to check up on you." Mabel huffed a laugh and clenched her fist to stop it from shaking. "I wanted to find out which doctor's office your friend, the nurse, worked at." She had a hundred excuses why she might need the nurse's information, but held her breath to keep the unnecessary explanations from spilling out and looking suspicious. The blood rushing in her ears was so loud she almost missed Rachel's reply.

"She doesn't? She's a _midwife_?!" Mabel blinked at the coincidence and rushed to reassure Rachel that, "No, no, it's fine, I can just visit her there, that's not a problem." She wrote down the name and address of, "huh... Nonnartus House."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who watch "Call the Midwife", this is a respectful nod to the show and not an actual crossover. I'm fudging the timeline by about 30 years or so anyway. And hats off to anyone who caught the reference in my original story to those amazing ladies!


	11. DIY EPT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers!  Two chapters in one day, because why the hell not?  It was a long weekend and it's not like I have any kind of a posting schedule anyway.  It's sort of "when I get them done".  Un-beta'd, so be kind.  Enjoy!!

Mabel glared at the intimidating and uncomfortably non-Jewish building in front of her and a wave of nausea washed over her again. She blew out a shaky breath and tried not to appear as if she was talking to herself as she squeezed her eyes shut. _"Get it together, Mabe. Calm down. Now walk up the steps. You can do this. This isn't a plank you have to walk. The other end won't change the way it is right now, it'll only change your understanding of the way it is right now. So there's nothing scary about going up the steps. Because... because..."_ Mabel huffed on a sob and clenched her fists. _"Because the scariest part is what's inside you right now."_

As she was convincing herself that it didn't matter when she went in because it would still be true tomorrow if it was true right now so she might as well go now since she was already here, the door cracked open. A panic gripped her insides so fierce Mabel only just kept from bolting down the sidewalk. It was the sense of propriety instilled in her by her mother, and the thought of her mother on top of that which kept her rooted to the spot. A nun of indeterminate age came out and stopped in front of her, her hands folded somewhere inside her robes. _"Is there a pocket in there somewhere? Or a muff? Does she have some kind of crochet pattern going on under there?"_

"You have been standing out here for ten minutes. The girls are taking bets on whether you're coming in at all," the woman said, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

It was the sight of the crinkles, which so reminded her of Alfie, that jolted her out of her stupor. Mabel took a breath and pasted on a smile. "And what did you bet?"

"My dear," the woman reproached. "I am a nun. I do not gamble." She lifted her chin haughtily and Mabel's jaw dropped open in shame.

"Oh," she stammered, "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's alright, quite alright. I was joking. I said you were coming in, of course. Why else would I be out here if not to lure you inside?"

Mabel's sense of relief at her teasing was almost palpable, and she sagged as a chuckle was drug out of her. Mabel knew little about nuns, but the lady in front of her was gracious and approachable. Mabel had the odd urge to lean in for a hug and a good cry.

"How can I help you, my child?" she murmured, and Mabel almost _did_ cry.

"I need to know..." at the last second, Mabel realised they were still standing on the street and finished with, "if I can come inside to ask some questions."

"Of course," she said, ducking her head, and led the way up the steps. Mabel followed on legs that were not quite as shaky as they had been moments before.

When they breached the shadowy interior and Mabel's eyes adjusted, she did see a group of women inside. Some were dressed as nurses, some as nuns, but all of them looking at her. One, a blonde nurse in the back scowling at her, Mabel recognised as Rachel's friend.

"Nurse Franklin," the nun announced, her voice soft and accommodating outside was commanding and powerful in the hallway, "this woman has come inside to ask a few questions."

"Yes, I can see that," the blonde replied, still scowling in the face of the nun's benevolent smile. Mabel wondered at her rudeness until Nurse Franklin handed over a one pound note from the front of her uniform. Then she gestured with a graceful tilt of her head to have Mabel follow her. Mabel complied, clutching her purse with both hands and staring at the back of Nurse Franklin's heels. She was led into a bright open room, half of which contained chairs adorned with waiting women in various stages of pregnancy. The other half was filled with makeshift stalls divided by fabric partitions. Alfie would be in a black rage if he found out she was here. A non-Jewish doctor, a clinic instead of a private practice, a bloody gymnasium instead of a small room with no windows or wagging tongues. Which, of course, was what made it so appealing in the first place, because he wouldn't think to check here, but Mabel was starting to regret this decision.

Nurse Franklin must have sensed her hesitation because she checked back on her as Mabel paused at the edge of the room. "Come along, we don't bite."

Mabel tried to smile, she really did, but what came out instead was, "I'm sorry, but is there somewhere more private?"

Nurse Franklin stilled, considered Mabel, then said, "No."

Mabel stilled too, and fixed the shorter woman with a hard look. "I'm telling you this is a sensitive conversation and it would be safer for everyone involved if they were not privy to this."

Nurse Franklin was no dummy. She smiled, not unkindly, and lowered her voice. "I can assure you we have the highest confidentiality possible, for your safety," she glanced at Mabel's abdomen, "and everyone else's."

Mabel felt a little better but glanced around at the other women waiting their turn, her nerves on edge. Nurse Franklin noticed her gaze and reached out to place her hand over Mabel's.

"They have bigger things on their minds, let me assure you."

And sure enough, each woman was reading a pamphlet, looking after a little one, or lost in her own thoughts. No one paid Mabel the slightest attention, and a little more tension bled out of her. Her lips thinned with determination, then she nodded at Nurse Franklin who smiled at her in return and led her behind a partition.

Mabel froze again when faced with an exam table, a chair, and a stool intended for the doctor.

"Take a seat, please," Nurse Franklin said, all business, and motioned, thankfully, towards the chair. Mabel sank into it and tried not to fidget.

"Will we be needing an exam today?" Nurse Franklin asked, picking up a clipboard from the small table, and Mabel had never been more out-of-her-element in her life.

She stuttered out, "I don't... I mean... I'm not sure how you..." then, in a rush, "I need to know if I'm pregnant."

Nurse Franklin jotted a note, and said, "Then let's start with an exam and see how we do, hmm?"

Mabel nodded, her neck stiff, and squeaked out a soft, "Okay."

She handed Mabel a gown. "Take off _all_ of your clothes," she stressed, "then put this on, it ties in the front like a robe. The doctor will see you shortly."

Mabel nodded jerkily again, then struggled to do as she was told. Her limbs were awkward, and while she wasn't normally self-conscious, she had never felt more naked, even when covered as well as possible with the gown.

When the dark-haired doctor slid back the curtain, followed by Nurse Franklin, Mabel wasn't sure if she was grateful the wait was over or not. He said hello politely and gave his name, which Mabel promptly forgot, then skipped any other idle chatter and directed her where to lie. He settled himself between her raised knees, and she shot a panicky glance at Nurse Franklin when she felt his icy hand on the inside of her thigh. The blonde woman gave her an encouraging nod, which helped not at all, and when he breached Mabel with his unfamiliar fingers, her bum inched up the exam table to escape his uncomfortable prodding touch.

"Almost done," he muttered, placing his palm on the soft curve of her stomach, right above her thatch of dark curls and pressing slightly.

Mabel didn't care if he was almost done. She would _never_ come back here, she would _never_ subject herself to this again, she had never been more humiliated and poked at in her life-

"Very good," the doctor said, withdrawing his fingers all at once. Mabel sat up, slamming her knees together and drawing the gown around her as closely as possible.

"What's very good?" she asked in a small voice.

The doctor looked surprised at the question as he washed his hands in the nearby basin. "I mean you seem healthy," he explained.

Mabel couldn't help the flare of confusion and frustration in her gut. "But am I pregnant?"

The doctor blinked at her before giving a quick glare at Nurse Franklin, who returned it with a bland look and a raised eyebrow. He turned back to Mabel, rolling his sleeves down and re-seating himself on the stool, this time, a safe distance away. "If you are pregnant, uh, Mrs Smith," he said, glancing down at the clipboard, "it's too soon for me to tell." He tried to look reassuring. "When did you last have your monthly cycle?"

Mabel's cheeks heated as her head dropped and she muttered, "I'm not exactly sure..."

The doctor was unperturbed. "And when were you and your husband last sexually active?"

Could her cheeks _get_ any redder? "Um...I believe it was a few weeks ago."

The doctor nodded and smiled benignly. "Well, at this point, we'll just need to play a little game I call "Let's Wait and See", hmm? You'll find out soon enough. Mother Nature will tell you, one way or another."

Mabel stared at him. He couldn't be serious. There was no way she went through all that, only to be told he had no idea what he was doing. Her anger built inside her. Was this some kind of free peep show for him?

As she was about to open her mouth and give him a piece of her mind, Nurse Franklin stepped forward and gripped Mabel's upper arm, _hard._

"Thank you, Doctor, I'm sure Mrs Smith is pleased to hear she's healthy. I can finish up here."

He nodded and exited, and Mabel turned to Rachel's friend furiously. "He just-"

"Does he ejaculate inside of you?"

Mabel's eyes flew wide in alarm and she literally forgot what she was going to say. "...what?"

Nurse Franklin looked at her with patience. "That means when he-"

"I know what it means!" Mabel said, too loud, then clamped her mouth shut. She'd never heard the word before, but she could figure it out. Lord, no wonder she didn't have enough blood flow for her higher brain functions, it was all in her face. She tried to calm herself down, unclenching her fists and wiping her sweaty skin on the thin fabric covering her thighs. "Sometimes, but not usually," she finally admitted, although she couldn't meet the nurse's gaze when she said it.

"Well, if you are pregnant, you're not very pregnant. You have lots of time before you start to show, and lots of time to figure out how to tell him." Nurse Franklin took Mabel's hand and Mabel raised her dark eyes to the nurse's blue ones. "If you're not pregnant and you'd like to continue to be, you need to change the "not usually" to "not ever". That's what does it."

She waited for Mabel's hesitant nod before continuing. "I had him examine you so you'd know if you were healthy," answering Mabel's unasked question. "If you're pregnant, there's no reason the baby won't be as well. If you're not pregnant," she said, caution in her tone, "there's no reason you can't become so."

Understanding flooded Mabel and something dark uncoiled from her heart. _"Fear,_ " she realised, _"I was afraid of what I didn't know."_ She recognised, then, what Nurse Franklin had given her, and was so very grateful. "Thank you," she said with sincerity.

Nurse Franklin nodded and moved to the small table. "Here are pamphlets on the first trimester, some do's and don't's about getting ready for baby. that kind of thing." She looked at Mabel knowingly. "If you'd like, you can take a few minutes to read them over now, in case you'd rather leave them here."

Mabel flashed her a small, cheerless smile and nodded. The smaller woman patted her knee. "I'm here if you need anything, and if you _do_ , I want you to come back here. Okay?"

All she could do was offer the same smile and shrug, not making any promises. She could guess what Alfie's reaction to a baby would be, and it wouldn't involve shaggy heads bent reverently over abdomens. She would just have to do as the doctor suggested, and "wait and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pregnancy test we know and love today wasn't invented until the early '70's. Prior to that, scientists discovered a way to test for hCG in women's urine, but not until 1928, and it involved some pretty serious animal cruelty. Before that, doctors had no scientific way of knowing and usually suggested the "wait and see" method. So next time you pee on a stick, give a cheer for some fairly modern medicine that allows you to do so, whatever the results.
> 
> PS. Mass distribution of home pregnancy tests was delayed by sixxxxx yearssssss in the United Stated due to "concerns over sexual morality and the ability of women to perform the test and cope with the results without a doctor". Holy fucking shit.


	12. DIY Nursemaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this, thanks for sticking with me! Mabel and Alfie mean a lot to me, but sometimes real life takes precedence, dang it anyway. Anyway, hope you like this installment, unbeta'd so if you see something, let me know!

"Fuck this whole day," Alfie muttered as his car's engine refused to turn over, again. He kept from beating his fists raw against the inanimate object only because they were already raw from beating a few animate objects earlier in the day. This was definitely one for the books. What a perfect fucking storm.

The tobacco deal was in the middle of falling through, and he wasn't sure he could save it in time for the rest of the deals he'd made to work out. He was working a precise juggling act and he'd just dropped a major ball today. He'd screamed his bloody head off, he'd beaten one man unconscious, and he'd instructed Abe to throw a second out the window. Alfie strongly suspected that Abe simply showed him the door, but at that point, as long as he didn't have to look at his stupid WOP face again, he'd have been happy.

He wanted a glass of rum and a brawl and a fuck and a ten hour nap, not necessarily in that order. But it didn't make any bloody difference what he wanted if he couldn't get his STUPID BLOODY CAR TO RUN. Fuck! He slammed the cover closed, kicked the tire for good measure, and started on the three mile walk home. He was tired, he was cranky, he ached everywhere, and he hadn't seen Mabel in two fucking weeks. He needed her like a balm, his good sense started to diminish the longer he went without her. He reminded himself not to let her out of his sight once this cursed deal finally finished, whatever the outcome.

He wouldn't admit it, but the walk actually served to cut through the angry chatter in his head and burn off the rage energy that seared along his veins. By the time he got to his own front door, he wasn't anything but exhausted and resigned. He'd take a good night's sleep over a lot of things, but tonight above all. He entered the darkened house and Peaches greeted him, whining her hello, her entire body shaking with excitement at seeing him.

"Hello, girl," he murmured, crouching to scratch her and getting licked on every available centimeter of skin by a warm, sloppy tongue. Her high whines continued as she struggled not to bark her happiness at his arrival. She knew he didn't approve and she was trying so hard to be good. Alfie's heart lightened as Peaches' back end writhed with the force of her tail whipping back and forth. She was a good dog, and he told her so. It was nice to be welcomed home. As he stood to take off his coat, Peaches' whines increased and he watched her pace back and forth towards the hall, her big eyes asking him to follow.

Alfie hung his coat and hat, his forehead wrinkled with concern. As soon as he moved toward her, Peaches scampered off down the hall and as he neared the loo, Alfie heard movement from inside.

"Mabe? 'Sat you?" he called through the door.

"Yeah," came the weak reply and Alfie's concern spiked.

He paused, unsure how to proceed, and settled on asking, "You alright?"

"No," Mabel moaned, and Alfie almost ripped the door off the hinges in his haste to get to her.

He found her kneeling in front of the toilet basin, her dress sweat stained and her damp hair falling out of its pins. The smell of vomit hit him in the face like a towel and he staggered back.

"Fuckin' hell," he grumbled, backtracking as his own gorge rose.

He was answered by another volley of vomiting as Mabel retched into the toilet. Alfie could feel his own gag reflex working in response and he didn't _scurry_ out of the room, because gangsters didn't _scurry_ , so much as they beat a hasty and respectable retreat.

Which left him standing in the hallway, his own sweat prickling uncomfortably on his skin, and the dog still whining high and miserable. He had no idea what to do. He had never, ever had anyone throwing up in his toilet that wasn't him, and it was usually because he'd had too much to drink.

When Mabel moaned, "Go away, Peach," Alfie jumped on it, because _that_ he could do.

"Come on, girl," he commanded, probably too loudly, and ushered her into the back garden. He contemplated staying out there with her but decided he was being a coward and ducked back in the house.

He tried to decide what he would want if he were the one kneeling on the floor and settled on a glass of water and a damp cloth. One in each hand, he approached the bathroom like it was enemy territory.

Mabel was still on the floor, but her head was tipped back and her eyes were closed, and she looked like she might be done for the moment. She'd already pulled the chain to flush the mess, for which he was grateful, and he stood by her awkwardly and thrust the cloth in her direction.

"Here."

Mabel cracked an eyelid and took the cloth to wipe her face and neck with a sigh, then accepted the glass when he shoved it towards her. Now his hands felt too big and too empty again, but she looked thankful as she took small, careful sips. She handed them back, and he was glad to have something to do with his hands.

"You sick?" Alfie asked, his concern making his voice gruff and off-putting, even to him. "Should I call a doctor?" he amended.

"No, I'll be okay."

He watched Mabel push against the floor, frowning as he saw her arms shaking. He'd never seen her this weak before. It was disconcerting.

"Can you..." she said in a small voice, then huffed a laugh. "Can you help me up?"

Alfie jumped guiltily, realising he was staring at her like an idiot while she was struggling to stand. He helped her up, getting her wobbly legs under her and walked her toward the bedroom.

"No, no, not your beautiful bed, I can sleep on the sofa," Mabel protested, and Alfie grunted, "Shut up," and mercifully, she did. He laid her on her side of the bed, then put the glass on the table next to her. He wasn't positive, but she may have been asleep before he finished pulling off her shoes and spreading the afghan over her. He smoothed back her hair, pulling a few pins carefully from the curls and setting them next to the glass, and knew that he was stalling. He wasn't sure if he should believe her that she wasn't sick, but, with a sigh, noticed how late it was and left her so she could get some rest.

He let the dog in, gathered linens from the closet and sighed again as he looked at the stiff, uncomfortable sofa. It wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind for the night, but it was par for the course with the rest of the day he'd had. Peaches circled and settled on the floor as he punched pillows and tried to get comfortable. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

It wasn't.

He was wakened far too early by Rowena, positive he was dead or dying since he was lying on the sofa in the living room. He got up, checked on Mabel, who was still dead to the world, and tried to rub the stiffness out of his neck while he made a few phone calls.

He called Abe first, telling him to get someone to fix the car he'd left at the office, then send someone to pick him up.

"What do you mean, "There's no car out front"?" Alfie thundered. "There _is_ a car out front, because I bloody well left it there last night." He hung up and threw the closest thing at hand, a book, across the room. "FUCK!"

Then he took a deep breath and picked up the phone again. This time, he dialed the bakery.

"I need to speak to Wilma Fitzgerald." He waited while someone fetched her, picking up the book and replacing it on the desk.

"Mrs Fitzgerald? Yes, I needed to let you know that Mabel won't be in today, she's not feeling well."

"Who is this?" came the hesitant voice on the other end.

Alfie didn't answer, just let the silence stretch. "Did you get the Hawthorne order out?"

There was a pause. "Not... yet."

"Do it. She'll expect it finished by the time she gets back."

"And when might that be, sir?"

Alfie ignored the sarcasm on the final word and answered, "Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. You worry about that Hawthorne order." He hung up before she could reply.

After he got ready and ate some breakfast, ("Don't wolf it down like that, sir, you'll give yourself a belly ache,") he went to check on Mabel again. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed trying to put on her shoes and failing.

"Alright now, that's enough of that." He took the shoes from her hand and placed them carefully under the chair again. Mabel protested weakly, but allowed him to undo the buttons on the back of her dress. "I called the bakery, you're not going in today."

"Oh, Alfie, I _have_ to go, there's so much-"

"Wilma will get the Hawthorne order out, don't worry about it." He pulled the dress over her head and folded it on the chair.

Mabel blinked at him as she crawled beneath the covers in her underthings, goosebumps forming in the early morning air. Alfie was too much of a bastard not to enjoy the sight, even if she was sick. "How did you know?" she asked, her eyes bleary and drooping already.

"Tomorrow's the last day of the month, innit?" He tucked the afghan under her chin. "It hasn't changed so much since I've been there."

Mabel snorted softly, eyes slipping closed. He kissed her forehead, just a brush of lips, really, and muttered, "Get some rest, love. Work will be there when you're well."

Mabel mumbled something that sounded like, "pretty sure I'm dying," but he was pretty sure she wasn't.

—

Until he got back that night, and she was still in bed.

When he first got home, he noticed her coat on the rack and smiled. Peaches was there to greet him, but Mabel hadn't come to the door so he went to find her. He found her spread out over his bed, lying on her stomach and displaying an obscene amount of leg. She had changed into one of his old shirts, which hit her at the thighs, and she must have gotten warm because she'd pushed the duvet and afghan to the foot of the bed. His first thought was that she looked good enough to eat, and, God help him, his trousers started to get a little tight. It had been weeks, and he was not a patient man. But when he got closer to her, he realized that her pale beauty in the moonlight was a little too pale. And her curly hair was actually curled with sweat and lying limply along her brow. He could see her back rising and falling, her breathing shallow and fast, and the warm pool of arousal in stomach quickly turned to an icy pit of fear. She wasn't lying in his bed to welcome him home, she'd been there all day. He tried to get a handle on the panic that was clawing its way up his throat.

"Mabe?" he asked, embarrassed by how needy he sounded and cleared his throat.

She stirred, faintly, and cracked an eyelid and Alfie's heart started beating again.

"You alright, Mabe? Are you sick?"

A frown appeared between her eyebrows and she shook her head, a faint back and forth. "Must have been somthin' I ate," she mumbled. The frown stayed put, and Alfie knew she was doubting the validity of what she'd just said. His heartbeat was still working because he could hear it in his ears and feel it in the tips of his fingers when he bushed the hair off her forehead and checked for a temperature.

"Mmph," he grunted. "Alright, come on, we're going to a doctor."

He watched her eyes fly wide and she tried to sit up. "No, no, I'm sure that's not necessary, it was just something that didn't sit right with me. It'll pass."

Alfie crossed his arms and fixed her with a glare. "Mabel. Look at yourself. What could you possibly have eaten that did this to you?"

Mabel's face flew through a series of expressions, too fast for him to catalog, but the strongest and final emotion was confusion.

"I..."

Alfie waited, but she genuinely seemed to be struggling to answer. "What was the last thing you ate?"

"I... " she tried, "Yesterday? I think? I had lunch at the bakery before we went to the..." she trailed off and her eyes sought Alfie's, a strange look on her face.

"Before you went where, Mabe?" Alfie tried to maintain his patience. "What did you eat that "didn't sit right"?"

"No, nothing I ate," she whispered, barely loud enough to hear and Alfie knelt down next to the bed and she looked at him with something like fear. "Something I drank."

Alfie sat back on his heels, confusion and worry battling for dominance in his head. "You drank too much?" That was... odd. Mabel was generally a sleepy drunk, giggly and warm, and he'd tucked her in a few times, but he'd never picked her up off the floor.

Mabel sat up, shaking her head. "No, thank goodness," she said thoughtfully. "I wonder..." she looked at Alfie, gauging his reaction, "I wonder if someone put something in my drink."

"What," Alfie intoned, his voice flat and his blood boiling.

"Something about the way it tasted, kind of chalky," she said. "I thought it was just bad rum, but now..."

"Who bought it for you?" Alfie asked, standing and reaching for the gun he left in the bedside table.

Mabel put her hand on his arm and glared. "I bought it myself, thank you very much."

Alfie's lips twitched up at the indignation in her voice as he checked to make sure it was loaded before he shoved it in his waistband. "Then all those men are idiots. Where were you?"

Mabel hesitated and his face warned her not to mess with him. She reluctantly told him the name of the club and he nodded once. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "Stay here."

"Alfie..." he heard her call as he strode out of the room, but he didn't stay to listen. He spoke quickly into the phone in the front room, put Peaches in the back garden and left in a swirl of greatcoat.

* * *

Mabel heard him on the phone but didn't know who he was talking to and made to stand and follow him. He didn't need to storm off with a gun every time she...

 _"Okay, apparently I'm not standing to follow him,'_ she thought as she crashed back onto the bed, her legs wobbly and her arms shaking. She blew out a breath as a wave of dizziness swept over her ands he squeezed her eyes shut. _'I'm just going to lie down for a few minutes, he'll be right back and I can talk to him then.'_ Then the front door slammed shut and she let all the fight drain out of her.

 _'Damn him,'_ she thought, sinking back into the bed. _'He never listens to me.'_ She refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of her head reminding her of all the times he'd listened to her in the past, taking her word for it when he didn't take _anyone's_ word for it. She fought sleep for about ten seconds before it pulled her back under.

She was shaken awake by Rowena, even though she couldn't tell it was Rowena right away because she was being gentle and speaking softly.

"Och, lassie, yer doctor's 'ere."

"Hmm?" Mabel tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes and focus on the grey-haired woman in front of her. "Doctor?"

A proper Jewish doctor appeared magically over Rowena's left shoulder and Mabel tried to sit up and make herself presentable. He went through the motions of listening to her heart and looking in her eyes before handing over a bottle of ipecac and giving a hesitantly hovering Rowena instructions on how often to administer it. Mabel glared at the bottle and tried to forget she was lying in Alfie's bed wearing nothing but his old shirt in front of these people.

Once he left, Mabel agreed to be helped to the loo by Rowena, where she was mercilessly fed the medicine. She spent the next hour on her hands and knees retching up every last bit of bile and water in her.

Finally, _finally,_ it stopped and she staggered back to bed, mostly under her own power and accepted the headache powder and water Rowena gave her. She started to feel a little better, curled on her side and staring into the dark.

"Rowena?" she inquired into the stillness.

"Aye, lassie. I'm here. Wha' do ya need?"

The older woman smoothed the sheets around her and Mabel felt the hot prick of tears threaten. It was only under the safety of darkness that Mabel could confess, "I'm scared."

Rowena's hands paused in their ministrations, then continued, more assertive than before. "Ach, lassie. It's just a wee bit of vomit. Nothin' to be a'scairt of."

Mabel sniffled and braced herself. "I'm scared it's going to hurt the baby."

She heard the sharp intake of breath and Rowena's hands left completely, then gripped her by the shoulder and forced Mabel to roll and face her. Her face was stony, no emotion present, but Mabel thought she heard a wobble in her voice. "A bairn? Truly?"

Mabel shrugged. "I'm not sure. The doctor said to wait and see. I was feeling poorly and someone suggested it, and now I can't stop thinking about it." Mabel felt a little better, just having said something. It had been weighing on her, the not knowing, the inability to _do_ something about it, and she was sick of it. Saying it out loud made in concrete, something she could acknowledge and move forward with.

"Alfie-"

"He doesn't know," Mabel interrupted, fidgeting with the blanket covering her. "I wanted to wait until I knew for sure, but I couldn't just..."

"I understand."

Mabel looked up at her sharp words and was met with soft eyes that said they truly did understand, maybe better than she herself did. "Do you have children, Rowena?" The thought had never crossed Mabel's mind before, but now she believed Rowena must have some experience with what she was feeling.

A flash of pain so intense it was almost tangible crossed Rowena's features before she glanced down and fussed with the duvet, smoothing and re-smoothing.

"Not anymore."

"Oh," came Mabel's soft reply. She had no words, nothing that could comfort her, but she reached out and grasped her hand anyway.

Rowena nodded crisply, a sharp sniff accompanying the squeeze she gave Mabel's fingers. "War is a terrible thing," she said, then rose and left the room without another word.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Alfie remarked, studying his fingernails. "You saw nothing, you know nothing, you are," he shifted his weight, a groan sounding below him, "nothing. Is that about right?"

The bartender with Alfie's cane pressed against his Adam's apple couldn't exactly speak, but Alfie had already heard everything he'd had to say. At this point, Alfie was simply allowing himself to release his frustrations. He'd served Mabel the drink using a glass he'd been instructed to use. He didn't know who'd given him the glass, he didn't know what was in the glass, he only knew that it was his daughter's teddy bear that had been thrown on the bar before the demands had been made.

Alfie let that last part roll around in his head. The Blinders didn't play those games, thought they were too classy. The Russians definitely did, but they weren't in town anymore, they'd made sure of it. Hmm. Whoever it was, they either hadn't cared or just hadn't cared to inform the bartender that Alfie's justice was harsh and swift.

He relaxed the cane, listening to the bartender suck in a breath.

"Well, I'm glad we got that straight."

Then he pulled the gun from his trousers and shot the man between the eyes.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Alfie remarked, studying his fingernails. "You fixed the engine, you took it for a joy ride, and then you replaced it nicely where you found it."

"I didn't know it was yours!" The young man in front of him was half indignant and half terrified. "Honestly, Mr Solomons, if I'd known it was your car I wouldn't have touched it."

"Is that a fact?"

Vigorous nodding.

"So it's my responsibility to make sure everyone knows which car is mine, is that it?"

Vigorous head shaking.

Alfie rested his hand on the drawer of his desk. "Well, I'm glad we got that straight."

"Wait, Mr Solomons!" the lad waved a hand to get his attention and Alfie took a good look at his hands. Alfie always noticed hands. They could tell you a lot: the way they fidgeted, where they strayed to, what they were used to doing. And these hands were those of a working man. The boy couldn't have been more than 14, but his hands already told the story of a provider. His hands made Alfie pause.

"Well, go on. I'm waiting," he finally prompted when the boy stayed quiet.

"Well, uh... I was just thinking that maybe you could use my help, you know?" The hard-working hands wiped themselves on a pair of worn trousers that had seen better days. He started to sniffle, despite his obvious desire to stay strong. "With your cars, I mean. I can fix about anything, and I wouldn't charge you nothin', it'd be like me payin' you back." His voice started to wobble and he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Alfie arched an eyebrow and tossed a handkerchief at him. He watched him blow his nose, thinking.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Joshua," he parroted. "Sir."

"And how many people are you providing for, Joshua?"

Joshua clenched the handkerchief in his fists, all senses alert. He answered carefully. "My, uh... my mother takes care of us, sir, but there's five of us kids, so we all help out where we can."

"And let me guess. You help out by stealing cars?"

Joshua gulped but said nothing.

"Who do you steal them for?"

He didn't say anything again and Alfie felt his patience snap.

"Joshua, let me tell you how this is going to work. You're new to this world, so I'll explain it using small, primary school words so your little baby brain can understand." Alfie could see his back stiffen at the goading. "I'm going to threaten you with the gun that is in this drawer," Alfie pulled out the drawer and let it hang there, a promise. "Then you are going to tell me who you are stealing the cars for so that I don't shoot you with it, so that you can go home to your mum and your 4 siblings and continue being able to fix about anything."

Alfie settled both hands on top of the desk and leaned forward. "And if you don't, I'm going to shoot you in the head, and then I'm going to get on this phone right here and call the cops. And when they get here, I'm going to explain that you stole my property and I was within my legal right to protect myself and my belongings."

Alfie watched Joshua hold his breath as he leaned even further forward. "And then they'll shake my hand and thank them for taking one more delinquent off the street, and your mum will have one less mouth to feed, and my world will continue on without a single hitch, do you understand me."

The goading at the beginning had done its job of shutting off the water works, so while Joshua looked plenty intimidated, he wasn't crying.

"I can't tell you who I steal the cars for," he started, and Alfie pulled the gun out of the drawer. "But that's only because I don't know!" he hurried to explain. "I can tell you who I take them to though!"

Alfie put the gun back in the drawer, and Joshua gave them a name of a local junkyard and a low-level thug that ran it. Alfie narrowed his eyes at Joshua, but he assured him that was all he knew and Alfie was inclined to believe him.

"Give your address to the girl at the front on your way out. If I need you, you'll make yourself available. Understand?"

Joshua nodded and placed the handkerchief, now crumpled beyond repair, on his desk. He stood and excused himself, hurrying out the door, and Alfie caught Abe's eye and nodded. Abe nodded back and followed him. It was understood that Abe would check him out, make sure his story held up, make sure he wasn't in anyone's pocket. Alfie himself pulled the phone closer to him, because he had a junkyard to follow up on. Which, of course, he would get to. Just as soon as he made sure Mabel was okay.


	13. DIY Informant

Alfie had informants everywhere, that was the thing. He paid good money for information, and he liked to think because of it, he knew everything that went on in Camden. Which was why it was bloody annoying that Joshua, the kid he'd "hired" yesterday, was the key to unlocking why his fucking tobacco deal was falling through so spectacularly.

"Billy Hill."

"Yeah, boss," Abe confirmed.

"Billy fucking Hill," Alfie said again. "That's who's buying stolen cars from scrawny Jewish teenagers."

"Yeah, boss," Abe agreed.

"That same Billy Hill is fucking me over on shipping and possibly sending my business down the fucking drain. That Billy Hill."

Abe kept his mouth shut, a wise decision.

What burned Alfie up was that he hadn't seen it coming. He had seen the _possibility_ of failure of his new venture, and had done everything in his considerable power to make it happen anyway. However, it had not gone well. Alfie had sunk money into a new source of income that relied on overseas transport, and he'd bought, cajoled, stolen and threatened all the pieces but that one. And now, thanks to one snot-nosed fuck hole, Alfie might lose the lot because he couldn't get the shipments to and from without say-so. Which he didn't have. Short of building his own boat, dock, port, and harbour, (which he had briefly looked into,) he wasn't moving merchandise off this bloody island.

Billy Hill, the gangster and shipping magnate, held the corner of the illegal tobacco market along with shipping said tobacco and he wasn't interested in sharing. He had also, Alfie found out, been expanding his own business ventures. He now shipped stolen car parts overseas, ran nightclubs, and dabbled in racketeering. Essentially, he was a well-connected bloody rich kid who was becoming a pain in Alfie's arse.

"Abe," Alfie started, "I don't like Billy fucking Hill." He stood, pulling on his hat and coat. "He's got his fingers in too many pies and he needs to get his hand slapped."

"Yeah, boss."

"Tomorrow, we deal with Billy fucking Hill," Alfie declared. "Today we deal with Tommy fucking Shelby. Remind me to spread this shite out a bit next time."

Abe smirked and pulled on his own coat. "Yeah, boss."

* * *

Alfie had been planning this meeting for two weeks. He had a guard set up on every block to and from the warehouse they were meeting. Tommy had said alone and unarmed, so Abe would be with him, of course, and Alfie didn't go anywhere without his brass headed cane. This was all part of the back and forth he and Tommy did. He also knew that Tommy would have backup with him, and he'd have a gun on him somewhere, although Alfie trusted Abe with that part of it today. If Tommy patted him down, he wanted to be able to throw it in his pretty boy face.

Alfie had no idea what the fuck the Blinders were up to these days, probably something far more complicated and involved than it needed to be. The man just wouldn't quit while he was ahead, and a man like that made enemies wherever he turned and Alfie had his own problems. But, for all that, Tommy's payouts were large and on the rare occasions he got a telegram, Alfie didn't turn him down.

Today it was simple information. Alfie had people run it down on his side of the tracks, easy enough for him and right difficult for any of the Blinders to do themselves-Alfie made sure of it. He wasn't going to stick his hand in whatever finger-grinding machine Tommy was building, but Tommy would be right fucked if he thought Alfie was letting him build it in his territory.

The warehouse was out of the way for both of them, which was fine with Alfie, and empty when he walked in, Abe at his heels. The similarity to the warehouse where Georgie met his end was eerie, but Alfie had no intention of letting something like that go down again. He had granted the Peaky Blinders a remission for good behaviour, but there were days Alfie wouldn't mind seeing pieces of them floating down the Thames. God, but he didn't love poking at the oldest one, though. One of these days he'd poke him hard enough he'd snap, and that would be a day. Tommy would hate it, but he'd stand behind his dumb shite of a brother, and then all hell would break loose. Maybe he'd catch him on a good day and Alfie would laugh, or maybe he'd catch him on a bad day, and Alfie would rain fire down upon their fucking sodomite heads.

"Well, Tommy, I see you rolled out the red carpet for me this time, 's very nice, this hellhole of a warehouse," Alfie bitched out loud.

"Shut it, Alfie," Tommy Shelby said calmly. Alfie swivelled at his voice and watched him stride into the warehouse from the opposite end. He was alone, his long coat billowing out behind him as he walked. He looked like he was in a hurry which, of course, meant Alfie would make this last as long as humanly possible.

Alfie's eyes crinkled at the edges and Tommy glared slightly before the cool, flat mask slid back in place. "What have you got for me?" he demanded of Alfie.

"Oh, just the usual errand boy things you have me doing. I gotta say, this is usually not the kind of work I take in, Mr Shelby, I would have expected-"

"I said, 'Shut it, Alfie'," Tommy clipped. "Do you have it or not?"

Alfie narrowed his eyes at Tommy, studying the man in front of him and letting him sweat for a few beats. It wouldn't do to let Tommy Shelby throw his weight around with no consequences. On the other hand, Alfie was willing to pick his battles. Eventually, he shrugged. "Aye, I've got it." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the single folded piece of paper, presenting it to Tommy.

Tommy took it and presented the roll of pound notes, not bothering to check the information first. Alfie pocketed the money, which he grossly overcharged for and which Tommy hadn't batted an eye at. Hmm. This whole transaction stank like Gypsy fuckary. He waited for the other shoe that he anticipated dropping any moment.

Tommy extended his hand and Alfie hesitated a moment before taking it. Tommy Shelby was a man who didn't do something without a reason, and he rarely shook hands. Alfie took it though and shook hard, twice, but as he pulled away, Tommy squinted at him, studying him. He parted his lips, drew a breath as if to say something, then thought better of it and shook his head.

"What." Alfie couldn't stop himself from asking, annoyance in every letter.

Tommy gave a nonchalant frown, returning his hands to his pockets and shrugging slightly. "Probably none of my business."

Alfie held absolutely still, his teeth clenched and his eyebrows furrowed. Then, like a switch had been thrown, he spun on his heel. "Probably not. Come on, Abe." They were halfway across the warehouse before Tommy Shelby's quiet voice stopped them.

"Although..."

Alfie sighed and turned back to face him. "Out with it, gyp-o, I don't play fucking games with you."

"Yes, you do," came Tommy's succinct answer.

Alfie tried not to sneer. "What do you fucking want, Tommy?"

Tommy's smug smile was infuriating and a good thing to see from halfway across a warehouse instead of right in front of him. Otherwise, he might have to punch it off his bloody face and where would that leave them as far as relationship building went?

"It's about your woman."

Alfie froze for a moment before stalking toward Tommy fucking Shelby and getting in his face.

"My what?"

"You know, the one who runs your bakery. The one you're fucking. Mabel, isn't-"

"No, uh uh," Alfie shook his head, scowling. "You don't get to say her name."

Tommy smiled at him again. "Fair enough."

Alfie waited a moment, balling and un-balling his fists. "What about her?" he asked as calmly as he could manage.

Tommy took the time to light a cigarette before he answered. "Is she still having trouble getting her shipments on time?"

Alfie said nothing.

"Because if she is, you should probably check into that. See, I believe she's having the same issues as the ones I'm using for my shipments to the States. Billy Hill has been fucking up my life, and I have a hard time believing he's not fucking your life up too. They started out trying to find out if there were any connections between our two companies by making errors on both our shipments and seeing what the results would be." He took another drag, eyeing Alfie shrewdly. "Too bad for them, she bollocks-ed that all to hell by calling up and talking to the secretary. She fixed her portion of it every time, before I could send someone round to... see it my way, shall we say."

Alfie said nothing.

"Oh, didn't you know about that?" Tommy asked innocently.

Alfie said nothing.

"Well," Tommy tapped the ash from the end of his smoke onto the warehouse floor. "I just figured that someone in her... condition," Tommy took a drag, letting the word hang, "shouldn't be dealing with having to make anyone see it her way."

Alfie said nothing.

Tommy gave an exaggerated eyebrow raise. "Oh, I see... you didn't know about that either." He tsk'd quietly, the smugness behind his eyes almost unbearable.

Alfie refused to confirm or deny, not that it made a lick of difference. Instead, he pulled Tommy closer by the lapel of his coat so they were nose to nose. "That is my house. And you stay the fuck away from it, it's got nothin' to do with you." Alfie knew his eyes were wild, his nostrils flaring and if Tommy Shelby knew what was good for him, he'd be scared. Very scared.

Instead, Tommy looked condescending. "Then you better get it in order, Alfie." Then he gingerly removed his coat from Alfie's fingers and strode for the door, coat tails swinging. "That's all, Mr Solomons. Have a nice day."

* * *

He left Alfie standing, Abe at his heels, in the middle of the filthy, empty warehouse in the middle of the worst part of London. Abe watched him scowl at the floor, frozen, until he focused on Abe shifting uncomfortably behind him. With a jerk of his head, he directed Abe to follow him to the car. They drove back along the agreed-upon route, signalling to their lookouts that all was well. As they made their winding way back to Alfie's headquarters, the silence was oppressive in the car. Neither Abe nor Alfie spoke until Alfie was standing behind his desk, his face a blank piece of stone again.

"Did you know?" Alfie asked, dangerously quiet.

Abe knew he wasn't asking about the late shipping or Billy Hill, and he didn't hesitate. "I didn't. I hadn't even heard any rumours."

"But, of course, you'd have told me if you had," Alfie said calmly, rearranging papers on his desk without looking at Abe.

Abe desperately wanted Alfie to look at him, so he could show him how earnest he was, but Alfie's frozen scowl was pointed at the desk and nowhere else.

"Of course, boss. Of course I would have."

"Mmph," Alfie grunted, "because you're loyal to me, right?" Then he slid open the top drawer of his desk. "Not to her."

Then he did look up, and Abe immediately wished he was anywhere but under that piercing blue gaze. He stifled his knee-jerk reaction to speak as quickly as possible to get that look off of him. Instead, he placed his hands behind his back and widened his stance. "Yes, boss," he answered, quiet and earnest, staring Alfie in the face. He knew more than his job rode on the way he replied, especially if Alfie got it in his head that Abe knew something he didn't.

Alfie regarded him, his hand toying with the drawer pull. Abe didn't know if Alfie believed him, but Alfie started moving toward him, away from the drawer, although it hung open ominously. "You know that I can't afford to doubt your loyalty, Abe."

It took everything in him to hold his tongue and wait.

"I need to know that if it came down to me or her, you'd pick me." Alfie continued. "If that's not your answer, then you and I are going to have a problem."

"I understand."

"DO YOU?" Alfie thundered, cutting him off. Silence spread out, thick and heavy and Abe swallowed involuntarily. "Do you understand, Abe? Because it seems to me that we've conversed in the past where I asked for information about her, and you decided you knew better." Alfie walked closer to him. "Remember?"

Abe nodded curtly, his eyes meeting Alfie's and his hands still clasped behind his back. "Yes, I remember."

"So do I, Abe." Alfie was in his face now, and Abe could feel his breath on his cheeks. "And every day you are still in my employ is a day I've given you a second chance. You must be pretty special because I don't give many people second chances. Especially not ones where their loyalty could be the difference between life and death." Alfie said. "And I don't mean mine."

Abe swallowed again, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. It sounded stronger than he'd thought it would, and he sent up a quick prayer of thanks. "I was wrong. It won't happen again."

"No, I already know that, Abe." Alfie simmered in front of him, just waiting to boil over. "You don't get to tell me that because I already know. It will NOT happen again. And here's how you get to prove that all the second chances I've been giving you were not wasted because you," Alfie poked him in the chest, "are going to find out."

Alfie was holding himself back and Abe was grateful. While he'd rather take the brunt of Alfie's anger than have him unleash it on, say, Mabel, Abe didn't know if his body could take it anymore. The gunshot wound in his shoulder had desensitised most of his left arm, and he had never fully gotten back mobility or strength in that whole side of his body. He compensated when he could, and he hated himself for being thankful that he wouldn't have to take a beating, but he was glad. Because Alfie didn't need to use the gun in the drawer to kill him easily. It wouldn't have taken much, actually.

"I'll find out."

Alfie's crazy eyes shuttered slightly, his nostrils stopped flaring so much. "Good," he said softly, "good." He walked back to the desk and slammed the drawer shut before focusing once again on the papers in front of him.

Abe let himself out quietly.


	14. DIY Meet the Parents

Mabel woke in Alfie's bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets and feeling like she'd been through a mill press. It didn't take long for her to remember that it was not the result of a fun night. The entire evening crashed back in and she shivered as the clammy shirt she fished from the back of Alfie's wardrobe clung to her. She pushed her shaky legs from the bed and shuffled to the oasis that was Alfie's bathroom, counting on a long, hot soak to make her human again.

She lowered herself into the warm water, allowing the stiffness to ease out of her joints as she sighed. Mabel forced her lazy limbs to wash her hair, but afterward she floated for a while with her eyes shut. She felt bloody awful yesterday, but today her stomach had stopped cramping, and she wasn't nauseated at once by the thought of food. Maybe she would live after all. She remembered Alfie coming home and trying to take care of her and it made her smile. She always liked having someone fuss over her when she was sick, but she never pictured Alfie doing it. Her mother, sure, but never Alfie.

The thought of her mother made her sit bolt upright, sloshing water over the side.

'Oh, shite, what day is it?'

They were coming to visit, and she'd almost forgotten. She should be at her flat, cleaning and preparing meals and in general being a good daughter. The kind who didn't have sex or go drinking, let alone deal with any of the aftermath of doing those things. She groaned and drug herself out of the bath and through making herself presentable, a wave of exhaustion sweeping her as she finished pinning her hair in place. The Mabel looking back at her in the vanity mirror was nowhere near her normal state of "driven woman in a man's world." Peaches' square headed rested on Mabel's knee and she snuffed her sympathy.

"That's about as good as it's gonna get, Peach. What do you think?" she asked, and Peaches' tail thumped the floor at the mention of her name. She scooted closer, nosing Mabel's hand and Mabel petted her head, running her silky ears through her fingers.

"Well, yer lookin' a mite wibbly wobbly, lassie."

Mabel looked up to see Rowena in the mirror and tossed her a weak smile. "I'm actually better, I think."

"Mmph," Rowena grunted, depositing the stack of towels she'd been carrying. She moved to Mabel with sharp, purposeful motions and unpinned her hair, letting it tumble down her back. She made short work of re-coiffing and re-pinning, and making Mabel look far more like herself than she had in several days. Mabel would protest having someone fix her hair, she was a grown woman, but the thought of lifting her arms was draining, so she accepted the help. It was going to be a long day.

She must have sighed because Rowena met her eyes in the mirror. "What was that fer? Did I not do it right?"

"Oh, goodness, no it's perfect!" Mabel hastened to assure her. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't saying that at all," she mumbled, her face heating. "It's... just... thank you, I mean."

Rowena's brow remained furrowed and she examined Mabel with an intensity that made her skin itch. She placed a calloused, gnarled hand on Mabel's shoulder and asked, "Are ye all right, lassie?"

And curse her _stupid,_ girly heart, Mabel started to cry. She blinked rapidly and tried to mop up the tears that spilled over her cheeks because Rowena looked scared to death and Peaches whined at her.

"I am, I'm really fine, I'm just..." she said, sniffling, "I'm just..."

"... worried about the bairn?" Rowena supplied.

Mabel gulped, because she barely even considered the baby, or possible baby, or holy _shite,_ she would be a terrible mother because she'd been sighing about her own mother coming to visit and she was _so selfish_ and how would she ever be able to bring a whole person up in this world she was _literally helping make worse._

"Are ye gonna vomit?" Rowena asked, backing up to give her room.

Mabel looked stricken. "No," she admitted. "I'm sorry, I'm just worried about a lot of things." She breathed out and crumpled in on herself. Rowena was there, patting her cheek and then pulling her toward the kitchen.

When Rowena sat her at the table with a cup of tea and a fresh biscuit, Mabel petted Peaches and poured out her stress. She babbled about her mother's visit, her anxiety of being a mother herself, and her uncertainty of what Alfie would say. Rowena listened and washed dishes, not judging and, thankfully, not making trite responses to her fears. Mabel knew she had a full plate, she didn't need anyone else to minimise it, that was what she dealt with best. But oh, it was good to talk to someone else.

Mabel sniffled and wiped her eyes, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "Okay, I'm done now. Thank you for listening."

"Aye," Rowena nodded, pulling a tray of buns from the oven. "But yer not done yet."

Mabel looked at her in confusion as Rowena transferred the steaming rolls to a basket and tucked a thick towel around them.

"You'll take these for yer parents, lassie, and I won't hear anythin' about it," she commanded. It took a moment for her words to sink in, but then Mabel blinked in surprise and pulled the older woman in for a fierce hug. Rowena's stiff stance didn't change, but her arms came up and gave Mabel an awkward pat before she cleared her throat and pulled away. "Now," she barked, "what meals can ye make?"

So Mabel spent the morning discussing meal plans, recipes and lists for the shops. Finally, Rowena pushed her out the door with a promise to buy the items she didn't already have and bring them over to her flat. Mabel strode home, purpose renewed, and cleaned like mad. She set about moving her things aside so her parents could take her room, the sofa would be fine while they were here. She pressed linens, scrubbed and mopped and dusted, and then called Wilma to check up on how things were going at the bakery. Mabel left detailed instructions and made sure Wilma knew how to get a hold of her for the next few days. She'd just gotten back into her flat, her head whirling with bakery things, when there was a knock on her door. When she opened it, Abe was standing on her threshold with several bags of groceries looking uncomfortable. She rushed to take the bags from his bad arm.

"Oh, my, let me get that."

"No, no, I've got it," he said, turning his body to keep her from reaching the bags.

Mabel cocked her head at him, but stepped aside so he could enter and place the bags in her tiny kitchen. When he had each bag lined up on the short counter, he returned to the doorway.

"So!" he said awkwardly, "trying to eat healthier?" and Mabel stared at him.

"What?" She looked back at the bags. "Oh, right. Something like that," she smiled at him. "Thanks for bringing those!"

He nodded and gave a small wave before hurrying down the stairs. Mabel shook her head at him and returned to organise her newly acquired ingredients.

She could make five recipes now, and Mabel figured her parents would be so impressed her mother would weep with happiness. Mabel could do a lot of things, but she hadn't exactly made spending time in a kitchen a priority. She was calmer now that her flat smelled fresh and clean. The apples she arranged in a basket on her counter looked so cheery she couldn't help but be a little proud of herself for being a proper adult.

Mabel stretched, a satisfied groan rolling out of her. The cleaning had helped work the stiffness out of her achy muscles, even though now she wanted another bath. She was getting spoiled spending so much time at Alfie's. Mabel smiled to herself, remembering Alfie taking care of her. She'd been so glad to see him, as awful as she felt (and looked, she was sure).

Suddenly, Mabel froze. She'd been rubbing her sore back muscles, easing out the stress of the day. But without her realising it, her hand had strayed to her pelvis, absentmindedly pressing the dull ache there too. It was a nagging but familiar ache, the same ache she'd recognised from every month since the day she was 13 and helping her Bubbe shelling peas. She'd ended up ruining her second best dress that day because when she'd said something about it, her grandmother had said, "We don't talk about such things." Eventually her mother had told her how to pin the liner in her knickers and to sleep with a hot water bottle when the pain got too bad.

It was the ache she'd been expecting for the past week.

Mabel's knees got weak and she slumped on the couch. For a second, she was numb, the noise in her head a smeary blur. She wasn't sure what to feel.

 _'Relieved, Yaldeh,'_ she told herself, and that was true. She was. _'You're relieved because this makes everything so much easier. It just goes back to the way it was. Alfie doesn't need to know, Rowena will be relieved also, and Wilma will be thrilled that she won't have to do bakery stuff by herself. See? Easier.'_ She stood and gathered her items for her trip to the bathroom before bed, moving quickly and not thinking. As she lay down on the couch, the stiff sheet pulled up to her chin, she forced away the pictures of dark haired babies with plump lips and blue eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The next day, she met them at the train station. Before she'd even said hello, her mother remarked, "You're not eating, Mabel. You think I can't tell? A mother can tell."

Mabel smiled anyway, genuine gladness at seeing her parents welling up in her. " _Shalom_ , Mother. It's good to see you, too."

Her father just scooped her up in a hug, and she grinned and squeezed him back. He stepped back, embarrassed, and moved to take their bags. Mabel wound her arm through her mother's and led the way through the sooty, foggy streets. Her mother commented on everything, loudly, in between explaining how the trip had been (long, noisy, unacceptable), and everything wrong with Mabel's appearance (too skinny, hair too loose, too much leg exposed). Mabel smiled through it all because she was so used to her mother's fussing that she'd missed it. She knew her mum did it out of love and concern, and so Mabel stopped her only to crow about the meal they would eat that night. The one she'd made herself.

Her parents were so sufficiently distracted by this that the entire walk home they avoided all the things on Mabel's "I-hope-they-don't-bring-that-up-but-I-know-they-will" list.

Item number one on the list came up when they sat down to eat.

Mabel made sure her parents were seated, and that everything was in its proper place before she sat too. She handed round the basket of Rowena's rolls which they didn't need to know she hadn't baked. She was getting the hang of cooking, a little, but her baking thus far had been atrocious.

"So, Daniel is still working with your father, Mabel. He's doing well at the bank."

"That's lovely, Mother," Mabel flashed a polite smile and smoothed her napkin over her thighs. She plucked at the hem until she realised she was doing it and clearing her throat in the silence.

"So, have you been seeing someone, since you're obviously not interested in hearing about Daniel?" her mother pushed. Item number two!

Dinners were usually easy and chatty with her parents. Her mother was overbearing and pushy, but she cared about Mabel and what she had to say. So when Mabel spoke, her parents focused on her, always. This time was no different. So, naturally, Mabel pretended she hadn't heard the question.

"I'm glad you guys came down, truly. It's been too long and so much has happened..." Mabel trailed off with an awkward smile, but her parents just watched her and waited. She cleared her throat again and picked up her fork, eager for the attention to be somewhere else. "I have a few days off, and I was wondering if you'd like to see the sights tomorrow?"

Her mother helped herself to a roll and cocked her head at Mabel, but shrugged and went along with it. "Well, I was hoping we'd get to see the bakery since you practically live there. And, goodness, if these rolls are any sign of what we can expect, I might just move in with you!" She pressed her nose to the bread and inhaled appreciatively. "Mmm, you can't beat homemade bread. I'm so pleased you're learning all of this, bread baking is such an important part of..." she broke off at her husband's nudge. "Well, any home, really." She tried a placating smile. Wow, items three, four, and five, all at the same time.

"Ah, right, the bakery," Mabel faltered. "Well,-" but the sound of someone banging on the door hard enough to tear it down cut her off. All three of them jumped, her mum sloshing wine out of her glass.

Mabel squeaked out, "Goodness!" as she fumbled to stand and answer it as quickly as possible. "I wonder who that-"

But she didn't get to wonder for long because the door flew open and a cross and blustery Alfie came barging in.

"Mabel, there you are, I need-"

"Mr Solomons! What on earth are you doing? Here?" She plastered on a wide, fake smile as she stood between him and her parents, signalling behind her with her eyes. He noticed and stopped moving toward her, thank God.

"Ah, _Shalom Aleichem,"_ Alfie bowed his head hastily to her parents, her mother paused in sopping up spilt wine."My apologies for interrupting, I need to speak to Mabel here in private, won't take but a moment..." He placed a hand on her arm and tried to tug her aside.

"These are my parents!" Mabel said, a little too brightly.

Alfie paused and lifted his hand from her arm. "Oh," he said, then stopped, his gaze switching between Mabel and her parents. "Ah... right," he murmured. He hesitated, then said, "I am very pleased to meet you, right, I truly, truly am. Believe me when I say I wish it was in a better light, but right now, I need to speak with Mabel in the other room." He moved toward the only room in the tiny flat with a door: the bedroom. When he turned to allow Mabel to go ahead of him, she stared at him, unmoving, widening her eyes meaningfully.

Alfie looked again at the room he had selected and back pedalled. "I mean, in the hallway," Alfie amended and walked back to the front door, holding it open for her.

Mabel stared at him, flabbergasted. She had never really planned to introduce Alfie to her parents, but in her wildest imaginings of it happening, she would _never_ have expected him to act like this. Alfie was nothing if not a proper Jewish gentleman when it suited him, and she was, frankly, shocked.

But Alfie looked at her, his lips thinned and his jaw clenched and gave her the "I'm not fucking around, here" look.

Mabel scoffed and, she couldn't believe she was doing this, turned and asked her parents to excuse her for a moment. They varied between veiled expressions of concerned (her father) and appalled (her mother), but nodded and she stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her.

Alfie rounded on her the second the door shut. "What in the hell, Mabel?" he stage-whispered, yanking her away from the entryway.

"What in the hell ME?! What in the hell YOU, Alfie!" Mabel whispered back. "Those are my _parents_ in there, the only ones I've got, meaning you get just the one first impression, so ta for-"

"I had a meeting today," Alfie interrupted, and Mabel's jaw snapped shut at the fire she saw burning in his eyes. "With Tommy fucking Shelby. And do you know what he told me?"

Mabel didn't even get all the way through her head shake before he was pointing in her face, his nostrils flaring, and she backed up a step.

"He told me that a woman in your "condition" shouldn't be doing the things you're doing."

Mabel felt the blood drain out of her face, even as her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Then I sent Abe to talk to Rowena," Alfie continued. "And do you know what she told him?"

Mabel didn't even bother with a head shake this time.

"She said she'd stopped giving you the medicine the doctor gave you for your stomach, on account of you could be pregnant."

His voice had been climbing and when he got to the last word, Mabel couldn't stop the "Shh!" that escaped her. "My parents!"

"I don't give a good bloody fuck!" Alfie rumbled, but he lowered his volume. "Why is Rowena telling me you're pregnant? Hmm? And why is Tommy FUCKING Shelby telling me you're pregnant?"

Mabel straightened, indignation flooding her bones and pushing everything else aside. Her stupid temper would be the death of her someday.

"I beg your pardon! _Rowena_ says I'm pregnant? _Tommy Shelby_ says I'm pregnant?! At what point were you going to come and ask _me?"_

"When were you gonna come and _tell_ me?!" Alfie thundered.

"When I bloody well had something to say!" she roared back.

"Oh, and you don't have something to say now?"

"Oh, I've got _plenty_ to say to you, Alfie Solomons. Unfortunately, I can't say it right now, because it involves strings of words I wouldn't want my _parents_ to overhear. Unless you've forgotten they're in the other _bloody_ room."

Alfie threw his hands up and paced away from her, struggling to keep it under control. He took a few deep breaths and stared at the ceiling, his hands clenched in fists in his hair. Mabel crossed her arms, biting her tongue and glaring. Finally, he heaved a sigh, combed his hair back with his blunt fingers and moved to look at her, his eyes burning with intensity.

"Mabel," he moved to take her hands but she wouldn't budge from where they wrapped around her, holding her together. He faced her, his voice low. "Mabe," he started again, stressing every word, "this is not a discussion. You can't keep the baby."

Mabel gaped at him. His words hung between them, the seconds ticking by opening a chasm that was splitting her in two. She'd been expecting him to bloody _ask_ her so she could tell him the truth, and after that she'd probably rant about communication or some shite. He'd be an arse, as usual, stubborn and gruff but still someone who listened to her and valued her and cared about what she wanted. She was _not_ expecting him to be a commanding misogynist, issuing orders and expecting obedience. She wanted to sob, and she wanted to beat him, and rail against everything he was. But Mabel couldn't do that because Mabel Ziemann was a woman who was tough and intelligent and self-sufficient in a society that didn't want her to be any of those things. But she had been all of them for so, so long. And Mabel felt something fragile and taut and vital inside of her snap.

"Get out," she forced the whisper past her lips. Her glare radiated so much heat she was sure Alfie would singe.

Alfie looked confused. He even took a half step back, studying her in the dim light. "What?"

"GET OUT!" Mabel screamed, and Alfie jumped. "GET OUT!"

"Mabe..."

"Get out! Right now. I can't look at you, I can't..." And Mabel spun and _bolted_. She fled down the hall and into the communal bathroom, her feet and her heart and her mind all at odds with one another. The door slammed shut and she locked it before her feet carried her around and around the small space while her heart and head fought it out.

Mabel braced herself against the sink and stared at her reflection in the rippled mirror. She wasn't crying. She thought she'd be crying, she _should_ cry, she'd probably feel better if she cried, but she wasn't. She could sense it deep inside her, the dam holding back the tears, but all she could feel right then was scraped out, hollow.

But draped over the hollow was... _angry._ How dare he? How could he just assume she was carrying his child without even asking her? And, on top of that, how dare he decide, all by himself, the fate of said child? Not that there even _was_ a child as she'd figured out last night. But that wasn't the point. Not only was he throwing around lordly demands and telling her what his decision was about "not keeping" the baby, who the hell said she even wanted his bastard kid?

 _'No, wait, I didn't mean that.'_ Mabel felt awful the second the thought floated to the top. She really, really didn't mean that. It wasn't that she didn't want his baby, she... oh, God, what had she done? What was she _doing_?! There wasn't a baby. This was a huge discussion, about all the issues she had with how he'd handled it, but there _wasn't_ a _baby_. She had to tell him, right now.

She threw open the bathroom door.

"AL-" her parents were standing outside the door.

"-fie," she trailed off. He was long gone, of course, and her parents looked terrified.

"Mabe!" Her father was the one that rushed forward, cupping her face in his hands. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, and the dam inside her wobbled at the fear in his face.

"What was all that about?" her mother asked, her hands clinging to Mabel's.

"Uh..." Mabel muttered, "let's go back inside, yeah? I can explain."

Her mother's head swivelled, taking in the cracked doors in the hallway and her back straightened. "Yes, let's," she said, the picture of propriety.

The door hadn't even closed before her mother's hands were on her hips. "Who was that?"

Mabel sat on the sofa before she answered. Her legs were shaking and her stomach ache had returned in earnest. She was bloody exhausted. "His name is Mr Alfred Solomons, he... I know him from the bakery," she finished lamely.

Her mother blinked. "Solomons... isn't he your boss?"

"Well, not anymore, technically no one is my boss. I own the company. But yes, he used to be." Mabel had her skirt pinched between her fingers, the fabric biting into her skin. She stared at the crease she was making, unable to look away or unclench her fingers.

Her father broke in sounding surprised. "Wait, you what? You own the company? Is that even legal?"

Mabel stiffened and looked up, trying to hide the guilt in her gaze. She knew in her head he was asking if a woman could legally own a business, not if the business was legal. Her voice came out breathy anyway. "What?"

"Oh, never mind that," her mother flapped her hand at him and came to sit beside Mabel. "Why was he here, Mabel? What were you shouting about?"

Mabel wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. "Uh, we... do sometimes work together, and I..."

"You called him Alfie." Her father's voice was hard, and she felt her stomach sink.

Mabel was quiet for a moment before wetting her lips. "We've been..." she started, staring at the floor. "He's, uh, been... courting, me." She grimaced at the word and how un-Alfie-like it was. She choked down a laugh at the thought of Alfie's reaction to this situation and hurried on before the laugh could turn to a sob. "And we got in a fight. And I..."

She looked up at her parents, her eyes flitting back and forth between them before settling on her mother. "Mum... I..."

She had messed up. She had made a huge mistake, getting angry instead of just bloody talking to him. It hung heavy in the air, a huge ominous black cloud that threatened to split open. She could lose him over this, and it _terrified_ her. All she wanted was to rush after him and fix it, but barring that, she wanted someone to hug her and tell her it would be okay. Neither of her parents looked sympathetic. Her father was frowning, his fists clenched.

"Was he hurting you?" he asked.

"What?" Mabel, shaken from her reverie, looked at him with genuine confusion. "No, no of course not, why?"

"You were shouting," he challenged.

"Because I was angry, we were having an argument!" Mabel was confounded. "Why else?"

Her father stared at her like she was daft then just shook his head and walked away. He sat at the table and stared resolutely at the table. Mabel knew he would have left if he'd had somewhere to go. Discussions about anything were usually regulated to her mother, who was currently looking at Mabel with hard, flinty eyes.

Mabel swallowed. She was on unstable ground and she desperately wanted a hand to hold, but one look at her mother's face told her she would not find it there.

"That's not how proper ladies act in a courtship. He was courting you? Mabel, what were you thinking?"

Mabel sighed. "I..."

"Well, it's a good thing you are done with that. A man like that is no good."

"What are you talking about? I'm not 'done with that'," she said, hurt and off-balance.

"Of course you are," her mother nodded with finality. "He is no good for you, you can do much better. He cannot even keep a job."

Mabel huffed out an unamused laugh, rolling her eyes. "That is wildly inaccurate and not what I said at all."

"It does not matter, Mabel. You listen to your mother now, she knows. You think she got to this age without knowing a thing or two? Believe me. He is _No. Good._ "

"Mum..." Mabel started, but then she sighed. She wasn't going to win this one, and after today, she didn't want to fight anymore. So she plastered her "boss" smile on her face and stood. "The food is getting cold. Shall we?"

* * *

Alfie slammed down the stairs and out the door, not because he was angry and scared and there was a pain in his chest like he'd been punched, but because he could. He could do whatever he wanted in this town, there was no one to stop him. He owned this fucking town.

The engine started up beautifully and his car careened down the street. The frame shuddered as he took the corner too fast, and he narrowly avoided hitting a pair of young lovers walking hand-in-hand down the street. He considered going back and hitting them on purpose, but decided he had better things to do.

Alfie wanted to beat something black and blue, so he did what he always did when he got in this mood. Business.

"Yes, I want to see Billy Hill."

"I'm afraid you can't see Mr Hill right now, is there any way I can set up an appointment for-"

Alfie slammed his walking stick on the polished wood desk with enough force to leave a gouge. The mousy woman unfortunate enough to be speaking almost swallowed her tongue. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes and he leant close, calm, always.

"I want to see Billy fucking Hill right fucking now. You can tell him that Alfie Solomons is here, and he's in a fucking mood, and he can either deal with it now or he can let it fester. It's up to him."

The woman nodded, stood on shaky legs and whispered, "If you'll just have a seat..." before disappearing down a hallway.

Alfie looked around the posh office with a mixture of envy and distaste. His new headquarters wasn't posh. The bakery hadn't been posh. He wasn't posh. Alfie knew this about himself, but it had never bothered him. He knew himself better than most, and he'd come to accept the things he knew. He was a sinner, he was a man who got things done, he was clever. And since the war, he was a man who carried an awful lot in the box at the back of his mind, and he had no intention of unpacking it, ever. He wondered if Billy Hill knew himself, and if his poncy little office with an actual fucking fern represented him.

Billy Hill was there, as Alfie expected, even though it was late. He wore a sharp, charcoal grey suit, his shoes polished within an inch of their lives. His thick, black hair oiled off his high brow showed off his dark eyebrows and his sharp, Greek nose. He looked smarmy as hell. Alfie liked him almost at once.

"Mr Solomons," he greeted Alfie, hands at his sides. He gestured down the hallway he'd come from. "Right this way, please."

Alfie grunted and followed, cane swinging next to him. When they reached an office with a large wooden desk and plush, cranberry carpeting, Alfie wanted to sneer. This was what he'd been paying for when he'd forked over the outrageous fees to have things shipped overseas. What a pretentious prick. Alfie's face stretched into a grin and he took a seat.

Billy Hill settled himself behind the desk, his large hands folded in front of his face.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Alfie hated being on this side of the desk, but it wouldn't do to let anyone know that. He twirled the stick on his knee and studied the man in front of him. Clearly he knew what he was doing, his business was solid, and he worked hard. But he was young, which meant he had a mentor, and he had good contacts. Being a gangster in this town was a career, and there was a level of respect for all successful career men in Alfie's mind.

"Well, it seems, Mr Hill, that you and I have at least one conversation that's been brewing for a while. I thought we might as well have it."

"Mmm," he agreed, "at least one."

He stood and Alfie tensed, which Billy noticed. "I'm not armed, Mr Solomons, can I ask if you are?"

Well, that was a sentence that rarely got uttered. They either assumed you were or hoped you weren't, but no one _asked._

"Only with my rapier wit," Alfie said, which was true. He'd left his gun in the car.

Billy smirked and moved to the side cart to fill two glasses. Whisky, Alfie noted. When Billy handed Alfie his tumbler and raised his own in a toast, Alfie said, "To business."

Billy inclined his head. "Indeed."

They drank, and Alfie savoured the burn as it rolled down his throat. He took his time, letting Billy finish first so he could make him wait.

But Billy didn't wait. "Mr Solomons, I believe I know why you're here."

"'S'at so?"

"Mmm. I'll start, and if you feel I'm off base here at any point, please let me know."

Alfie set the heavy tumbler on the desk in front of him. "Alright, Mr Hill."

"Our mutual acquaintance, Tommy Shelby, seems to be getting in the fucking way."

Alfie tilted his head, studying the calm demeanour of the man in front of him and then nodded once. "Yeah, that'll do."


	15. DIY Aquiescence

Sometimes Abe wished Alfie was the kind of man who paced. It would almost be a relief to watch him burn off his frustration, anger and nervous energy by moving around. Instead, he sat behind his enormous desk, rolling something small between his fingertips and glaring a hole in the rug. He would spend long minutes glaring before making a few notes on the paper in front of him or saying something he no doubt saw as profound.

"Never let them see you in the trenches, Abe."

Abe wasn't sure who "they" were or what exactly the "trenches" entailed in this analogy, but he would nod, and Alfie would go back to glaring. He'd been at it for a few hours, and Abe's arm was aching. He needed to move, and while Abe could have left without Alfie thinking a thing of it, the truth was, he worried about his boss. Alfie had faced a pretty life-altering revelation regarding impending fatherhood, and so far, it didn't suit him. He had been irritable, distant, and downright odd since the night before, and Abe thought this might just be the calm before the storm. Abe had seen Mabel too, and of the two of them, he decided Mabel was handling this far better. Although it was possible that because Alfie kept all emotions save flagrant anger under wraps, a flicker of anything else seemed like a tidal wave of feelings.

Abe resolved himself to staying, in case Alfie needed him, but when his entire side twinged, he cleared his throat.

"Mmph?" Alfie grunted, still glaring at the floor.

"Sir?" Abe prompted, and when Alfie looked up, Abe raised his eyebrows in a 'what the fuck?' look.

Alfie sat back with a sigh of frustration. "I can't figure it, Abe."

"Can't figure what, sir?" Abe asked, praying fervently that he wouldn't start asking questions about babies. Because Abe knew fuck-all about babies and he did _not_ sign up for that shite and-

"Billy Hill," Alfie said, pushing back from his desk and rolling his large shoulders.

Abe closed his eyes in silent thanks. "Well, we've been through every scenario twice since you started this-I mean since we started this," Abe said, glancing at Alfie's harsh look. "I thought you were calling it."

"Mmph," he grunted, "I went to visit him last night."

Abe waited. It surprised him, Alfie hated rushing into things without considering ten thousand possible outcomes first. It must not have gone well at Mabel's.

"He wants to take out the Peaky Blinders."

Abe let that sink in. Then he shifted. "Historically, not a good bet for you." Alfie fixed him with a scowl, and Abe blinked calmly back at him. "Sorry, sir. Didn't think you kept me around to lick your fucking boots."

Alfie's eyes twinkled. "And why do I keep you around, Abe?"

"To pick things up when you get your ribs broken, boss."

Alfie snorted at that, opening the drawer and tossing in whatever he'd been rolling in his fingers. He snatched the pencil off the desk again and pointed at his scribbles with it.

"Billy Hill controls the shipping by anything larger than a rowboat in and out of London. I've looked at train transport and shipping from somewhere else, but it's getting too damn expensive as it is. Unless we go through Hill, it's not fucking worth it. I'd make it profitable for him, but he's being a fucking prick."

Abe knew all that. "How does that have to do with the Blinders?"

"It doesn't," Alfie said. "We didn't discuss any of that, we only talked about the Blinders. He wanted to find out what I know, how much of the operation I'd seen, how often I talked to Tommy. Primary school, really. But he's fighting both of us, and it's stretching him too thin. So when I came to him first, and he assumed it was so I could buy his favour against a shared enemy. And now he wants to pit us against each other so we'll run each other into the ground instead."

Abe pressed his lips into a thin line but said nothing. He didn't trust the Blinders as far as he could throw them, but he didn't hate Tommy Shelby. He followed the rules, such as they were, he reliably looked out for himself, and he was so beautiful it hurt. Not that Abe would hesitate to put a gun to the man's forehead if the situation called for it, but... well.

"And how are we feeling about that?" Abe asked diplomatically.

"I don't give a fuck about the Peaky fucking Blinders," Alfie stated. "They stay on their side, I stay on my side, they keep their bookies away from mine, and we all go home at the end of the fucking day. But Billy Hill," Alfie scratched his beard, thinking. "Billy Hill is..." he trailed off, and Abe waited.

"Do you know what he said to me?"

Abe shook his head, watching the older man.

"He said it wouldn't be enough to take out the Blinders and take over their businesses. He said because they're a family organisation, the only way to take them down and make sure they stay down is to go after their families too."

Abe said nothing, but he felt like he'd been kicked.

"Women and children too. He said they deserved it, and if you didn't squash the lot, they'd just breed more and rise back up." Alfie sat for a moment, stroking his beard, and Abe saw the icy calm that had taken over Alfie's visage, and he was afraid.

"So what is it you can't figure, boss?" he asked quietly.

"I can't figure how to kill him without it coming back on me, like Tommy and that whole fucking Kimber mess."

Ah. He should have known. Alfie was a terrifying bastard, but this is why Abe stayed. Because he would tell you he was doing it for selfish reasons, but Alfie left his town better than it was before, always. And he took care of his own. This baby wouldn't be any different. He'd topple an empire for the kid.

* * *

Mabel loved her parents, she really did. They were kind people, they cared about her above all others, and they did what they thought was best to improve her life. She had moved to another town on purpose though.

"Dear, you really ought to keep your onions and your potatoes separate. It keeps them from spoiling. You don't want them to spoil, right?"

"Mabel, love, you want me to put the towels... here? On the floor?"

"Oh, I didn't realise you wanted the clutter left on the table."

"Why don't we go somewhere for dinner tonight? We wouldn't want to put you out."

"Well, if you're so busy, you could always stop working at the bakery. I'm sure your future husband would appreciate it."

Mabel felt a headache building over her left brow, and she caught herself rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension.

At the, "You know, Daniel is very respectful of women," comment, Mabel stood and abandoned the knitting her mother had been encouraging her to work on.

"Mother, I think I'm going to get some air," she said with finality.

Her mother looked surprised, even though she couldn't have been. "Well, that sounds lovely!" She placed her own knitting on the end table. "I'll join you! Maybe your father would like that too. Just give me a moment, I'll ask him."

Mabel sighed and waited for the 15 ridiculous minutes it took for her parents to gather their things and get ready to "get some air."

They ended up meandering north-ish while her mother made comments about everything in sight. Mabel's smile was tight on her face, and she was about to suggest they turn around when she noticed a familiar face in front of her.

"Rachel!" she called, startling her mother, who was in the middle of a sentence. "Sorry, mother, just one moment," she rushed before disengaging her arm and scurrying to where Rachel was waving to her.

" _Shalom_ , dear," Rachel exclaimed, exchanging air kisses.

"Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you. Please, please talk about something for at least ten minutes so I can decompress. I've spent every waking moment with my parents for the last 72 hours and I _will_ go crazy."

Rachel laughed. "Not a problem, my friend. I was wondering why you weren't at work. How long will your parents be staying?"

"Just until the end of the week. Wait... how did you know I wasn't at work?"

"I ran into Travers! He came in to update his resume. He's all wild-eyed about getting this job he heard about and wanted to make sure it was as good as possible. I tried to explain-" She broke off when she noticed Mabel's hurt face. "What's the matter?"

"Hmm? Nothing, I just didn't know Travers was looking for something else." She flashed her brightest smile. "I wish he'd told me, that's all."

"I think he's just stressed about trying to get everything done, you know, with the low supplies." Rachel's smile was sympathetic. "The guys are just feeling the pressure. They'll be ok, don't worry about it."

Mabel had no idea what she was talking about, but she nodded and smiled again. "Thanks for stopping to talk. I'd better get back to them."

They hugged once more, and Mabel made her way back across the street to where her parents stood waiting.

"Who was that?" her mother asked, looking hurt Mabel hadn't introduced them.

"Hmm? Oh, my friend Rachel. She used to work at the bakery with me," Mabel said, waving a distracted hand in that direction.

"Well, she seems like a lovely girl! You should invite her over for dinner while we're here, I'm sure we'd love to hear more about what you do."

Mabel painted a strained smile on her face. "I don't think she'll be able to, she's got to be home for her... uh... family."

"Oh, of course," her mother nodded, then continued to prattle on as they walked. Mabel didn't hear a word. She was turning everything Rachel had said over in her head, the short conversation disconcerting her in a way it shouldn't have been able to. She needed to go in to work and find out what the bloody hell was going on, but she was stuck on what to do about her parents.

Until they turned the corner, and the solution presented itself.

"Oh good, we're almost there!" she announced cheerily.

"What? What was that, dear?" her mother asked.

"The British Museum is just up ahead. I told you we would see some of the sights. I have to run into work for a bit," she notified them, "but I want you to take your time, and enjoy yourselves! And then I want you to treat yourselves and spend this," she slipped the folded bills into her father's hand before he could say no, "on a cab. Do you remember the address?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Perfect! I'm so glad you were as excited to come as I am to let you see it! You will love it, it's very educational." She grasped her parents hands and beamed at them. "I'll see you in a few hours!" Then she pressed kisses into their stunned cheeks and bustled off, looking for a cab of her own. When she hailed one, she turned and waved to her parents, who were staring back at her, hands raised in a shocked farewell.

 _"Stop feeling guilty, Mabe. They're fine. They would have drug you there anyway, and now you can figure out what Rachel was talking about. Maybe it's nothing. Probably it's nothing. But if it isn't,"_ she pressed her lips together, _"this is something you can fix."_

She felt plenty guilty leaving her parents to fend for themselves, but she could also have used her hasty escape to talk to Alfie. Except that she wasn't positive where he was at the moment, and she wasn't positive how long a conversation with him might take. And she wasn't sure if she could fix it.

When she got to the bakery, it didn't appear right away that anything was going on. People were busy, but that was normal. They said hello to her if they saw her, but no one stopped to talk. Not unusual either. She didn't pause until she'd made her way to the stacks to find Travers. He was busy hauling barrels when she saw him, his face red and panting.

"Travers! Goodness, you look like you're about to pass out. Put that down."

Travers complied, but he looked annoyed. He lowered the barrel, then sat on the end, mopping his face with a handkerchief. "Something I can do for you, boss?"

"I... well, I guess I need you to tell me what's going on."

"Going on?"

"Yes. I talked to Rachel, she said something about low supplies?"

It was like a shutter had dropped over Travers' face. He stood, tucking the cloth back in his pocket. "I'm sure we'll manage, ma'am." He moved to pick the barrel back up and Mabel struggled to keep her temper.

"Is this about the Tuesday shipments again? Because I thought I fixed that, but I'm sorry I wasn't here on Tuesday. Did you tell Ms. Fitzgerald? I'm sure she can work something out."

If his face had been shuttered before, now it was stone. Her normally sweet, open Travers was acting cutoff and rude.

"Travers?"

"If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I need to get back to work."

He stood, hefted the barrel on his shoulder, and brushed past Mabel without another word. Mabel stared after him, aghast and unsure.

"Okay..." she frowned and made her way to her office. As she opened the door, Wilma bolted upright out of her chair.

"Mabel! You startled me, what are you doing here?"

Mabel gave her an odd look, pulling off her gloves. "I work here, remember? Your boss?"

Wilma laughed, thin and reedy. "Of course! I just thought you'd be home. You need the rest, for the baby!"

Mabel stilled, the hairs on her neck rising. She fixed Wilma with a fierce gaze before putting her purse and things down. "I won't be here long, just a few things I need to check on. Anything I should know?"

"Ah, no, everything has been running like clockwork."

"What about the Tuesday shipment? Did it come in on time?" Mabel challenged as she moved smoothly behind her desk, displacing Wilma.

Wilma backtracked quickly. "Well, no, but I called their office like you told me to, and everything's cleared up."

Mabel paused in her perusal of the items on her desk. "Cleared up?"

"Yes, it's been taken care of. I've got everything handled. You're being silly, Mabel, you should be home with your feet up." Wilma smiled benevolently and Mabel's back went up.

"I'll go home when I damn well please," Mabel clipped. "Now, I'll take the shipping order details and the time cards and that'll be all for now."

"Yes, ma'am." Wilma fished the files out of the stack and handed them over, then let herself out. Mabel watched her go, a deep unease in her gut. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but it niggled in the back of her mind, an itch just out of reach. She pushed it to the side and settled into the familiar chair to go over the numbers.

Numbers could be trusted. She relied on numbers throughout her days, it was where she did her best work, in discovering and ironing out deficiencies and uncovering discrepancies. She had an inkling that the numbers would expose whatever itch her mind wouldn't let go of, so she searched. When she got done with the supply orders and time cards, she moved on to everything else, inventory, orders, handling and shipping costs, down to the sealant on the bottles. But Wilma was right, everything appeared to be in order. So why did she still feel like something about her beloved business was off?

Mabel pushed back from her desk, crossing her arms and thinking. She got to her feet and took a walk through the building to clear her head. Maybe she needed to see it again in its entirety, just to make sure it was as she left it. She headed toward the breathing rooms, just to see if the men that normally ran the room had an extra glass waiting, like they usually did.

"Harold?" she called when she found the room empty. The older German gentleman that sat there was missing, his accented banter and watchful eye a constant on any given day. Soon enough though, she saw Levi, rushing toward her.

"Oh, Levi, I was wondering where everyone was."

"Hey, boss. Just helping out in the bottling room. Harold's still over there, should be back in a moment. Did you need something?"

"The bottling room?" Harold was doing manual labour? He was elderly, perfect for the half security/half experienced eye position the breathing room required, but not fit for the heavy lifting the bottling room needed. Surely she wasn't understaffed. The numbers said she wasn't, and anytime she made changes, she monitored for weeks afterwards to make sure nothing was overlooked. But she hadn't changed anything, so what was Harold doing in the bottling room?

"Yeah, they needed an extra set of hands."

"Hmm." Mabel smiled briefly, and she could have let it drop as Levi clearly wanted, but this might be the thread that unravelled the whole mess. "And why is that, exactly?"

Levi looked a little nervous, like his mum had caught him lying. "Why? Oh, just... it's a... they're trying something a little, um, different, with the... they're trying to... uh..."

"They're trying to make the ends meet," came the thick German accent behind her.

Mabel jumped a little and spun. "Oh, Harold, _Guten Tag_! I didn't see you there." She grasped his wiry forearm and smiled into his kindly face. She had always like Harold. When she first started, she would come down to chat with him, he was a font of information. He always had a joke for her, a new German phrase, and a story about the bakery. She had often wondered how long he'd been here, he seemed to predate even Alfie.

" _Shalom_ my lady. And we don't see you either."

"Yes, I know, and I'm so sorry about that. My parents are in town for the week so I've been out-"

" _Nein._ We see only Frau Fitzgerald now."

Mabel paused before replying. Harold didn't mince words, but was long on compliments and short on hostility. Today was a long list of contradictions, it seemed.

"Yes... but I assumed that was ok. Is she not doing the job?"

Harold waved her off and shuffled to his customary chair. "She is good, she do as you do, _ja_?"

Now she was confused. "Well, that's... good, I'm glad to hear-"

"But if you come, you see the problems. But you don't come. So you don't see. Only hear?"

There it was. She should have known Harold would just tell her, she should have sought him out earlier instead of pouring over numbers. The numbers were right, but you could fudge numbers. It was harder to fool people, and impossible to fool Harold.

She smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid I've failed you, my friend. I haven't even heard."

"Ach," Harold sat back, his hands on his thighs. "So you don't know! This makes sense, now. You see, you fix. Come."

She followed him carefully back to the bottling room. He led her to a corner where a quartet of young boys sat going through old bottles. One was scraping the wax seal, catching all the crumbles in a bowl on his lap. Another was peeling off labels while the other two were washing the bottles in a bucket of soapy water. The rest of the room was abuzz, every man in the factory working on a staggering bottling order although she was sure there was no such order going out.

"Harold, what-"

"The _Jungen_ , they find bottles on the street, or mostly from their own homes, and bring to us. We don't have enough, so we make it work. We use the wax again, the bottle again. We pay them a pittance which they probably take home to their papas who will spend it to buy more bottles from us." He shrugged, as if this was the way it was and the way it had always been and would always be.

"But Harold," she tried again, focusing on the men behind her, "what do you need all the bottles for? We don't have an order, and Wilma-Ms. Fitzgerald said the shipment came through on Tuesday even though it was late."

"Ach, so," he started, "we must bottle because we have no more barrels. We must get more bottles because we have not enough. We must make do as Frau Fitzgerald says there is _nicht mehr_ to be had."

" _Nicht mehr_? But... _warum_?"

Harold laughed, his old belly laugh, and she felt a little better. He led her back out of the busy, noisy room and back down the hall. "Very good, _Mädchen,_ your Deutsch is not forgotten _._ We are not told why, just that there is no more." He spread his hands, shrugging his shoulders. "So we make the ends meet. We make do."

Mabel pursed her lips. "Well, as you say, I will find out what is going on, and I will fix this." She leant forward and kissed the wizened wrinkled cheek above her. " _Danke, mein Freund,_ for telling me. And I assume I also have you to thank for the reused bottles idea?" He nodded, and she smiled. "In the meantime, you tell those boys to stop washing those bottles in that grimy bucket. We will set up a proper sanitising station. People drink out of those!"

Harold's laugh followed her down the hallway as she headed back to her office. She had a few things to discuss with Wilma, it seemed.


	16. DIY Once Bitten

Mabel slammed the earpiece back on the hook, her anger crackling in the air. Wilma was nowhere to be found when Mabel got back to her office, so she did some checking. Ever since Wilma had taken over, she had shortened, delayed, or completely cancelled every shipment. _Every. Single. One._ But the books showed every payment made on time, in full, and Mabel shook with fury. She felt so _stupid_. Wilma had played her, and she was more than outraged; she was hurt. She couldn't believe someone would steal from her, but it stung even more that Wilma had pretended to be her friend while she did it. In fact, Wilma had sat in this office with her, feet up, sharing her best rum and swapping so many personal details it made her cheeks flame. Mabelknew almost more about Wilma's husband Danny than she did about Alfie, while Wilma knew-

Mabel sat up with a jerk.

"Bloody fuck, what did I do?"

She snatched the phone towards her, clearing the line and trapping her skirt between her fingers, pinching a crease in the fabric while she stood by. When the operator came on the line to ask her for the number she needed, she rattled off Alfie's office line.

"Come on, come on, come on..." she whispered, her eyes closed, waiting.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's no answer at that number."

Mabel sighed, then asked for his home number.

"Solomon residence," came the familiar Scottish brogue.

"Rowena, thank goodness, is Alfie there?"

"Ach, no, lassie, he won't be back til late, like usual. Is everything alright?" the older woman asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Mabel hurried to reassure her, forgetting that Rowena thought she had reason to worry about her. It crossed her mind to tell her the truth, but she owed it to Alfie to explain it to him first. "Can you just have him call me when he gets in? I'm at the bakery now, but I'm heading back to my apartment, he can reach me there."

"Aye, lassie."

"Thank you."

She hung up the earpiece, the steam going out of her. She slumped, head on her desk, and groaned. How did everything get so fucked? Her throat was hot and tight, but gritted her teeth because she could handle this, damn it. Alfie wouldn't sob into his blotter, she wouldn't either.

She sat up, took a cleansing breath, and placed a few more calls to her suppliers. On her way out, she ran into Levi.

"Oh, Levi, do you have a moment?"

"Yeah, boss, what can I do for you?"

"Several things. I've made a list of things I need done. Can you let the guys know to stop the bottling as soon as possible? I've got additional supplies coming in tomorrow, that should help. When you get finished up, I want everyone to take the rest of the day off. You guys deserve a break after all that."

She continued talking, asking him to set the young boys up with a washing station and proper sanitising, and to verify all the batches bottled since supplies had run low, because they would need to-

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Yeah, boss," but he hadn't been. He'd been staring at her in wonder, a small smile tugging on his lip. He accepted the note she held out, promising to spread the word, and held his hand out to shake when she got done. She shook, a sharp, firm grasp, with a smile and a nod, and then she let herself out into the sunshine.

* * *

Alfie had been running back and forth to his bookies all bloody day, settling disputes, getting reports, shouting when necessary and gathering the earnings. He barked orders, moved money around, and ok, sure, maybe he was a little more irritable than normal, but on the outside it was a standard day.

On the inside, his head was a fucking mess. Because he'd been over it and over it, but he couldn't see any other way.

He couldn't be with Mabel any more.

He should have done it a long time ago, honestly. But he was a selfish fucking man, and he'd convinced himself that Mabel was a grown woman and able to make her own decision. If she wanted to be around him, all he could do was make her as safe as possible. But if she was going to keep the baby, it was his fucking responsibility to keep both of them as safe as possible. And every angle of this showed keeping himself away from them would keep them safest.

He was no good for her, this wasn't news. He'd known it since he met her. She was a good girl from a respectable family, people who looked like they cared about her. She'd probably never done anything illegal until she came here, and now she carried a gun under her skirts at all times because of _him._

Alfie refused to look at the giant gaping hole in his chest, the one that told him he was fucking terrified. He wanted to cower in a corner, because he couldn't be a father, didn't know the first thing about it and would inevitably fuck up a kid. But even if he kept himself away, let Mabel handle raising it, there were still piss pots like Billy Hill in the world. Or the fucking Russians, who apparently thought kidnapping infants was the way to get what you wanted, which in their defence, might have worked. He'd never seen Tommy Shelby look more unglued then when his boy had been taken.

No. Fuck it, he was done with thinking about this. Mabel had to take the child far, far away from him, before he ruined both of their lives. She needed to run. He would do everything he could to make sure she was safe and the kid was provided for, but he couldn't if he was constantly fucking paralysed by fear. He'd done nothing but think about Mabel and their baby all day. Fuck's sake, their _baby._ The word was daunting.

When Alfie got back to his office, Abe fucked off to somewhere and he threw his hat down on the desk and groaned his way into his chair. It had been a long damn day, and he was fucking done. He looked at the phone in front of him and thought about calling Mabel. He thought about kissing her sweet mouth and tucking his nose into her neck and just breathing while he wrapped his hands around her trim waist. Although not trim for much longer. He had a flash of himself standing behind her, her belly large with their child, wrapping his arms around both of them and holding on tight. Then, as if he'd released a dam, a flood of images came unbidden. Mabel tucked in his bed, holding a bundle of blanket and kissing a smooth, bald head. Mabel organising the baby's room, which used to be his office, he could just move his desk out into the corner of the sitting room. He could see the kid at two years old, a little boy in knee socks or a girl in pigtails, either way hopefully looking a lot more like Mabel than him. The child would hold Mabel's hand while they talked, walking to the market or to temple, smiling and chatting.

Alfie allowed himself to close his eyes, cherishing that one image before shoving it in a brand new box and locking it in the furthest reaches of his mind. Because in none of those images could he picture himself. He could help her, send her money, find the best nanny, whatever she needed. If she wanted this baby, he wanted that for her. But he was poison.

He looked at his hands, too big, too hard, too calloused, squeezing them into fists on his wooden desktop. He couldn't do this, couldn't keep thinking like this, all the fucking time. It was on a loop, spinning over and over through the same-fucking hell, he had to get out of here. He'd tapped the barrel he'd taken from Mabel a lifetime ago, and it was sitting in his cellar sounding pretty fucking good right now. Maybe he'd crawl in and find his way out later. Like, 18 years later.

Alfie dropped Abe off at his flat before heading home. The windows were dark, which meant Rowena was gone for the night, and that suited him just fine. He didn't need her motherly clucking when he was about to get pissed out of his fucking mind as a temporary solution to his problems.

Peaches greeted him at the door, her tail thumping and her face in a happy smile. She was at her full size now, and he was going to have to start taking her with him during the day. She got bored, and she chewed. Besides, Alfie liked her. She was a good dog, and even if she literally wouldn't hurt a fly, the people sitting in the chair across from him didn't need to know that. Of course, if she looked at them the way she was looking at him now, no one would ever be intimidated. Alfie smiled despite himself and ruffled her ears.

"Come on, girl. Let's get a drink, eh? We're gonna have to work on your poker face."

He left the lights off, grabbed a decanter and a generous glass and walked right past the note on the end table.

* * *

Three days. It had been three days since she found out Wilma had been stealing from her. Three days since she asked Alfie to call her so she could explain. Three days since she promised herself that she would not run after him, especially if this was his answer to how he would deal with a baby (should that situation ever arise). Her parents were going home today. They had been here for a week and she loved them, and would miss them, and had enjoyed their visit. And even though she would trade large sums of money to talk to Alfie, she was so grateful not to have been alone. She had to get up and put on a happy face and make breakfast and pretend she was fine. She had to traipse all over London showing them sites she took for granted and buildings she'd visited when she first arrived and then hadn't since. If she'd been alone, she would have locked herself in her room and cried, no matter what strong woman bullshit she'd told herself. This was better, and she was thankful to have them here.

But they would be gone in a few hours. Which left her with a bakery that was falling apart, a relationship that was falling apart, and no one to talk to about either thing.

Mabel stood in front of her wardrobe, her parents insisting on making breakfast for their final meal together, and she made a decision. She was tired of living on the back foot, tired of waiting on a fucking man to hand her her fate. She made her own. Mabel pulled a wine coloured dress toward her, because she knew it made her look fantastic, and it toed the line between business and sexy. She didn't normally flirt with that line, but she was going to set up a meeting today, and God help anyone that got in her way.

She used the phone in the hall to set up the meeting for that afternoon and joined her parents around her small kitchen/dining room table. She listened to her mother chatter about the trip and talked to her father about going back to the office, And after exchanging hugs and kisses and promises to write and visit and call, she saw her parents to the train station. Then she bought her own ticket.

"One, to Birmingham, please."

* * *

She sat in Tommy Shelby's house, in Tommy Shelby's office, across the desk from Tommy Shelby himself and felt strangely in control. Her wardrobe choice felt right, not because it influenced him, because it clearly didn't. She could have been wearing a burlap sack for all he saw her, and she liked that and didn't like that more than she'd admit. But she was glad of it because it made her feel settled in her own skin, ready, like armour. She stared Tommy down, his ice blue eyes hard and cold.

He pulled a small tin of cigarettes out of his inside pocket and offered one to her. Her, "No, thank you," sounded loud, but steady to her own ears.

"Mr Shelby, I came here to ask you a specific question."

Tommy tapped the cigarette he'd selected against the tin before tucking it in his lips and returning the tin to his jacket. "I'd assumed." He lit the cigarette and inhaled. "Go on, then."

"How much do you know about Wilma Fitzgerald?"

Tommy's eyes were flat, no reaction portrayed, and his small frown measured and calculated.

"I don't know what you mean."

She'd expected nothing less. "Mmm, yes, I'm sure you don't," Mabel said drily. "I mean, of course, that you're using her for information on me, but I wonder how much you know about _her._ "

He took a long drag, delaying his response, and Mabel waited. Alfie played this game too, and it bored her. It didn't make her uncomfortable or put her in her place. It simply took longer for them to say the six words they were going to say so she could move on.

When Tommy reached forward to tap the ash from the end of his cigarette, Mabel moved on without his six words.

"For example, were you aware that she has a husband, and a mother, and a small son to provide for-"

"Does she?" Tommy's emotionless words cut through her speech, and he was unflinching. "Are you sure about that?"

Mabel swallowed her knee jerk reaction to defend her friend and thought about what he'd said. She had talked to Wilma, hours upon hours of talking. They'd bonded, shared stories, commiserated and laughed together. But despite the stories, she'd never met Dan. She'd never seen a picture of him or seen anything he'd drawn or coloured, and she'd never visited the home Wilma shared with her mother. Her lips thinned, and she swallowed her anger at herself, for being stupid and not vetting people she was hiring. But it didn't matter. That's not why she was here, and she would not let Tommy Shelby distract her.

"Actually, I'm not sure about that," she admitted and Tommy's nod was almost imperceptible. "But she must have someone," Mabel continued, "because otherwise how is Billy Hilly using her to get information about you?"

Tommy didn't move except to exhale a cloud of smoke. He licked his lips and tapped out his cigarette, then leaned back in his chair. His hands were folded carefully in front of him. "Alright," he drawled. "I'm listening."

"To what?" Mabel burst out in exasperation. Her voice was loud in the still house, and Tommy looked slightly surprised, but Mabel didn't care anymore. "I'm not selling anything here. I'm not a spy. I don't have a super complex plan to take over your business, and then the country, and then the world." She huffed out a laugh. "I'm busy enough as it is."

Tommy didn't smile back. "Then why are you telling me this?"

"You mean why am I telling you the truth? About Wilma and Billy Hill?" At Tommy's slow blink, she sighed. "Mr Shelby, I was raised to tell the truth. So that's what you get. Here's some more truth for you. I am not your enemy. I just want to run my business."

He took his time adjusting his cuffs. "And Alfie?"

Mabel hardened. Her jaw slid into its stubborn stance, she could feel it happen. "I won't talk about Alfie with you. But know this: you will not get to Alfie through me."

Tommy raised an eyebrow and waited. He had all the time in the world.

Mabel thought about how to explain this in a way that would shut him down now, so she wouldn't be dealing with Peaky Blinders up her arse for the rest of time. "Mr Shelby, do you ride?"

He cocked his head, considering her. "Yes," he conceded.

"I don't. When I was small, I fell off a horse. A pony, really. It didn't throw me, I just fell. I wasn't hurt, not badly, and my parents tried everything to get me back up, but I refused. I haven't ridden since then, and I have no interest in doing so." Mabel laced her fingers together, setting them on her knee. "I don't profess to be anything I'm not, Mr Shelby. If I want something I go after it. But I know my limits and I protect myself. You will not fool me again, I can promise you that. I am the living embodiment of 'once bitten, twice shy.'"

Tommy watched her, sitting ramrod straight in the chair. "No," he murmured. "No, I don't think 'shy' is the word for you."

Mabel wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she'd said her piece, and he'd said his obligatory six words, and now it was time to leave. She nodded her thanks, and rose. Tommy rose as well and didn't seem surprised when she reached out her hand to shake his.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr Shelby. If you ever need to know anything about me, just call me."

She did get a small wry smile out of him at that. "And Alfie?" he teased.

She grinned back at him. "If you need anything from Alfie, just call _him_."

He huffed out a small laugh and walked her out.

* * *

Mabel stepped off the train as the sun was setting. She had to shield herself against the glare in order to meet his eyes, but of course she would know him by far less than his silhouette.

"Alfie," she greeted him warily.

"Mabe," he said back, taking her elbow and steering her toward his car, his fingers hard. "How was your meeting?"

Mabel sighed. "Fine, but when we get there, I get to talk for ten minutes and you don't get to interrupt me."

Alfie's mouth was a grim line and he didn't look at her. "Mmph."


	17. DIY Sequitur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I had a few more glasses of wine than would normally be considered "appropriate" in order to edit this chapter.  Let's just say, I liked it a lot more when I got done.  Any errors you see are mine, but not entirely my fault.  Some of it was the wine.

When Alfie pulled up to the house, he got out of the car and slammed the door. He didn't open Mabel's door as he usually did, he didn't wait for her to follow. He stalked through his entryway, turning on lights and pushing Peaches into the back garden unceremoniously. He left his hat, coat, and walking stick by the front door, then stormed into his office.

Mabel watched him, her hat and gloves clutched in her hands, her coat still on, and unsure of her footing. When he went into the office, still without looking at her, she released the breath she hadn't realised she was holding in a huff.   _"Damn you Alfie Solomons for being an arse just because you are frustrated. Well, I'm frustrated too, and I can play your silly game, but I refuse to because I am a bloody_ adult."

She'd expected the gun to be on the desktop, or in place of that, a large tumbler of alcohol. But Alfie had neither, just his hands steepled in front of his chin, an unreadable expression on his face. Mabel glared and settled in the chair in front of him. Alfie didn't move, just stared into her, with eyes so hard she thought they might cut.

"I met with Tommy because of Wilma," she blurted, then wished she'd started with the baby instead. Because it had been on her mind for a week, she hadn't seen Alfie in all that time, and it was the one thing she wanted him to hear from her lips. Instead, she'd clucked her annoyance at him, like a proper git.

She opened her mouth to say something else instead, when Alfie barked, "Why." But it wasn't a question. It was a demand.

Mabel frowned. "Well, I wanted to talk to you first, I tried to talk to you, I left a message-"

Alfie slammed a fist into his desk hard enough that Mabel jumped, her words ending in an undignified squeak.

"WHY." His voice was a disturbing amount of calm.

"Fine," Mabel gritted her teeth at him. "Wilma was spying on me and reporting to Tommy," Mabel spoke quickly, but more calmly than she felt. "She was also stealing from me. Tommy was paying her for the information, which I'm sure she was gladly accepting, but she was also being used by Billy Hill to get information on Tommy. I went to tell him that, and also to tell him he didn't need to pay anyone for information on me, since I wasn't his enemy."

"How very generous of you," Alfie commented, and there was genuine heat in his voice. Mabel blinked at him, then looked down when she noticed her fingers shaking. Curious. She felt a surge of exhaustion wash over her and she wanted this to be over, to get back to where they worked so well together. She was tired of the distinct lack of Alfie in her life, it was colourless. It would be such a relief to climb in Alfie's lap and kiss away the angry frown between his eyebrows. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept or eaten.

"And how do you know all of this?" Alfie continued, not quite glaring at her.

"Well," Mabel started slower, looking at the desk, "I figured out she was spying on me after you said Tommy told you I was pregnant." She glanced up at him, then back down, clenching her fingers in her lap. The impersonal look in his eyes was almost unbearable. "She was the only one besides Rowena that could have passed on something like that, and I don't think Rowena would do that. So I started thinking. I checked the books at the bakery, but she was shorting orders or cancelling them altogether and pocketing the money. She knew I always reviewed the books, but she'd taken over walking the floor, so she knew she wouldn't get caught unless it was slow enough that the crew could talk to me, or if I was bored enough that I went to talk to them. So she made sure the crew was plenty busy and tried to be my friend." Mabel made sure her voice didn't shake, but she thought Alfie might know her well enough anyway to see how much that had hurt her.

Mabel barreled on. "She took me dancing, and even though she didn't give me the drink, she definitely made sure I had one. The more I think about it, the cleverer I realise it was, and what a good little actress she really is." Here, Mabel met Alfie's eyes. "Something she said, something about the way she talked that night, and I realised she was in on it, whoever gave me the drink."

Alfie said nothing, his face giving away nothing.

"That club is owned by Billy Hill, isn't it?" she asked, her voice hard.

At Alfie's nod, she relaxed a little. "That's what I thought. She needed me to be distracted or out of the picture. Billy needed you to be distracted or out of the picture. They thought they could kill two birds with one stone by poisoning me." Mabel shook her head at Alfie's fists tightening on his desk, but her eyes slipped closed briefly. Whatever happened here tonight, Alfie was still Alfie, who got outraged on her behalf. She pushed aside sentiment and ploughed ahead. "When I didn't drink enough for it to be lethal, Wilma planted in my head that I might be pregnant, and then spread the rumour that I was."

Mabel licked her lips, her fingers pinching the fabric of her skirt nervously. "Alfie, before I go any further, you should know that Wilma and I spent a lot of time together... talking." A muscle in Alfie's jaw flexed.

"About... ?" Alfie prompted, his voice gravelly from disuse.

"You, mostly," Mabel answered, her voice low. "I mean," she hastened when he stiffened, "she talked about her husband Danny and I was just talking about you too, the way women do, and I was extremely careful at first, but toward the end, I might have been... less so. I didn't say your name, but it's not exactly a secret it was you..." she cringed at her own stupidity, not quite able to meet Alfie's eyes. "I think she was giving the information to Billy Hill, and he was... maybe more aware of your activities than he would have been otherwise." God, just shoot her now. The way Alfie was looking at her was fucking murder anyway.

A long silence stretched between them, and Mabel sat there feeling very stupid and vulnerable, not daring to say another word until Alfie had processed that.

Finally, Alfie breached the gulf and asked, "And how do you know she was spying on Tommy too?"

"Oh, I don't know that for sure. I just figured it was true, then spread the rumour that she was."

And it might have been wishful thinking, but Mabel was sure she saw Alfie's lips twitch at that, before settling into a grim line.

"Mabel," Alfie started, and Mabel frowned, readying herself for battle. He would yell, and rant, and rave at her, and she would yell right back because that's what they did. They pushed each other and pulled each other, and respected each other. But Alfie set his hands on the desk softly and looked at her.

"You can't be here anymore, you have to go away. We can't be together anymore."

Mabel felt the blood drain from her face. _"Wait... what?"_ Her mouth dropped open because her body's natural response to most scenarios was to spew words, but nothing came out. She stared at Alfie's lips, which were moving like he was speaking, but the only thing she could hear was GOAWAY over and over again. The roaring in her ears drowned out all sound and thought, and she tried to focus on Alfie's lips.

… safe...

… Camden…

… parents…

… sorry.

It was the "sorry" that turned the sound back on. She'd never known Alfie to apologise, ever, and now she'd missed it because she was gaping at him like a fish.

"Wait… what?" Mabel finally croaked, blinking. "Go away? You're _sorry_?! You're dropping me, just like that? Because I had a meeting with Tommy Shelby?" Mabel stood, her heart beating too fast and her sweaty palms bunching at her sides. "Well fuck you very much, Alfie Solomons! I mean, what the hell!?" She glared with all her might, fury and nausea rolling through her in equal amounts. She hung on to her anger with both hands, because if she didn't, she feared she may crumple into a ball and sob.

"No," Alfie said.  His voice was harsh and Mabel's spine stiffened. "This isn't about Tommy Shelby, I'm not going to discuss that with you. Even though you should _bloody talk to me about things like that!_ " Alfie's fists tightened, his rings standing out in sharp relief. The silence left after his outburst was deafening.

Mabel huffed air out her nose and managed not to roll her eyes at the most deadly gangster in London. "Again. I _tried_ to talk to you first. But it doesn't matter because I would have bloody _told_ you about it. Like I just did. No yelling match needed."

Alfie scowled at her, his jaw clenching. Mabel scowled back.

 _"No. This isn't how this is supposed to go. I was going to fix this, not make it worse."_ Mabel took a breath and tried to steady herself. She put her hands on her hips and stared at the floor.

"So if this isn't about Tommy Shelby, then, I admit, Wilma was a mistake. But I was trying to fix it." She didn't dare look at him, she had no idea what her face was doing. When she came in she had been frustrated, and anxious and a tiny bit ashamed, but now she could only focus on either mending this or self-preservation. There was no middle ground.

 _"But… but what if he's right?"_ her traitorous head whispered. Mabel had put him in danger, she had fucked up his business and her own, and anyone else would have been fed a bullet already.

"I…" she started, pausing to work past the clench of her heart. She knew it was earned, but the cold stare he was pointing at her was physically painful.

His angry growl stopped her for a moment, but his hand reaching across the desk froze her in place. "Mabel, this isn't about Wilma." His hand lay open, his palm up, and she wasn't sure what he was doing. She just looked at it, confused.

"This is about the baby." He seemed to pause to collect himself, but she couldn't stop staring at his damnable hand, sitting there open, expectant, waiting patiently. Everything that Alfie was not. "I'm trying to do what's best for you both. It's safer for you outside of Camden. You could live with your parents, or if you don't want to do that, I can pay for you to stay wherever you want until the baby's born."

She switched her eyes from his hand to his face, and to her surprise, there was no anger there. His brow was furrowed, his face gaunt and drawn, but in truth, he looked like she felt. She felt a relief sweeter than any she'd known flood her bones.

"Oh, Alfie," she said, thumping into her seat again and reaching forward to take his hand. His thick fingers curled around hers, the same possessiveness that had always been there between them, and it warmed her. "There's no baby."

The reaction in Alfie was immediate. He jerked back from her like he'd been burned, hurt and horror and betrayal on his face. Then, faster than she could track, he schooled his features once more, his lips pursed, and he cleared his throat.

"Ah," he stated, then cleared his throat again, scowling at the desk. "Well, I mean, that's what I had said, so I understand that you... changed your mind about keeping it, but I just didn't realise that it could be done so soon, so I wasn't expecting-"

"Alfie," Mabel interrupted, "no, no, no, I mean there never was a baby. I was never pregnant." She watched a new flood of emotions cross Alfie's face, and she couldn't catalogue them all, but she thought she saw disappointment in there. "Did you... do you _want_ a baby?" she asked, her voice tentative, confused.

Alfie frowned at her. "No, I... No, Mabel, I don't." It was said roughly like he was defending himself.

"Okay then. Neither do I."

Alfie's frown stayed in place. "Okay then."

"Okay."

They sat for a moment, blinking at each other, before Mabel asked, "Wait… wait a damn minute, you were going to send me away because I was pregnant with your child?"

Alfie blinked, frowned, then glared. "I was doing what was best for you. I was protecting our baby from all of this." He gestured vaguely to the office, the city, the world he lived in. Mabel glared right back.

"So if you do actually manage to get me pregnant some day, this is what I can expect? To be treated like garbage, put out on the kerb, and hope someone else picks me up?"

"No! 'Course not!" Alfie said, pushing a frustrated hand through his hair. "You pose a threat, but I'm trying to make it so you can defend yourself. You do remember how to shoot, right?"

Alfie got a sneer in response and almost a pistol in his face, but she decided at the last second that was not "mending things" and held off.

"Well, a baby can't defend itself, so I was doing it. This is no life for a child. Ever. So, yeah, if you get knocked up, plan on it. Plan on going somewhere safe, so I can keep you safe, so your child can grow up in a relatively normal household."

For a moment, Mabel didn't say anything, and Alfie sat in the tentative silence.

"Our child," Mabel said softly, her eyes never leaving his.

Alfie cocked his head, clearly confused. "What?"

"You said, 'your child'," Mabel said. "It would be _our_ child." She met his eyes, determination in every line of her body. "If I were pregnant, it would be our child. You don't just get to push your responsibilities into another town and forget about them."

"I never said I was…" Alfie exploded, then fisted his hand into his hair again. "There IS no child!" he said. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to know!" Mabel yelled right back. "Because I want to know that if the "worst" thing imaginable for you _actually_ happened, what would the fierce and terrible Alfie Solomons do about it? Huh?"

"Is that why you perpetrated this for as long as you did?" Alfie said. "You thought, "hey, what fun, let's toy with Alfie and see what he does"? And what did you decide? Hmm? Did I pass your little test?"

Mabel bristled even more. "I wasn't testing you, you selfish wanker, YOU NEVER EVEN ASKED ME!" She wished, for a moment, that she didn't have to raise her voice, that Alfie would listen and understand, and she could be the dutiful, good, wholesome woman her mother wanted her to be. Then she listened as Alfie hit the ceiling and knew she would only ever be as good as she gave. But boy, could she give it.

Alfie fumed. "Who the hell do you think you are that I need to ask you things like, "Oh, hey, Ms Ziemann, by the by, word on the street is that you're carrying my child, care to comment on that?"

Mabel fumed right back. "How about, "Hey, Mabel, executive of my branch of business and trusted college, I heard a disturbing rumour about you, but because I know you wouldn't lie to me I decided to find out from you if it's true before I jump to conclusions."

"Well who the hell talks like that?" Alfie yelled, his face red.

"Well obviously not you, you git!" Mabel yelled.

And with that, Alfie sat back, his own mouth hanging open. He blinked a few times before his lips settled into a twitch, and then he busted into a genuine grin.

Mabel was still breathing hard, so it took her a second to recognise Alfie's smile for what it was. When she finally realised, he had moved on to chuckling, and by the time he got to laughing, full-out, belly laughs, and they were contagious as hell.

Mabel couldn't help it. She felt her lips morph into a smile without her say-so, and before she knew it, she was laughing along with him. They both had tears in their eyes when they finally wound down, Mabel shaking her head at herself, at Alfie, at the whole damned situation.

"What are we doing here, Alfie?"

He just looked at her, his eyes fond and his mouth still smiling. "I don't know, Mabe."

"I missed you so damn much, I don't want to fight with you."

"Me either," Alfie admitted, his eyes crinkling with warmth, and Mabel leant forward, her hand extended over the desktop.

"Hey," she said as Alfie took her hand, "who ever said I wanted a normal household?"

Alfie sobered somewhat, his eyes searching hers. "Don't you?"

Mabel fought down a smile. "Alfie, I didn't actually think I'd need to say this, but I want _you_." She squeezed his fingers. "And all the things that go with that, good and bad."

The humour dropped from his face, even though he left his hand where it was. "There's more bad than good, love. What if it happens for real?"

"Then we'll deal with it together," Mabel said simply. "We are a good team. We balance each other, I think." She waited for Alfie's faint nod, before continuing. "If that ever happened, I'd hope we'd sit down and talk about what we really want, whatever that is, at that time." She shrugged and gave him a small smile. "I'm not sure I'll ever want children, to be honest, but things change. I've changed, since I met you." She squeezed his hand again. "And I like it." She smiled at him, warm and genuine. His eyes met hers, and she saw something there that she wasn't sure she'd ever seen on Alfie's face before. Hope.

"Alfie?" she asked.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Yeah, I want that too." He scraped his nails on his free hand over his beard, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Alfie?"

When he met her eyes, she leant forward. "I'm going to kiss you now, and we can work out the rest later. Okay?"

His brow crinkled, but he licked his lips. "Mmph. Yeah, okay."

"Okay," Mabel said as she moved around the desk. Alfie looked dazed, and when she reached for his hand, he gave it over easily. She grasped it, bigger and stronger than her own, running her thumb over the back, then turning it over. Mabel traced his square fingers with her own before she pressed a kiss to the centre of his palm. She curled his fingers into a fist and raised it to rest next to his heart, and then leant forward and kissed him, just the barest brush of lips, soft and slow and quiet.

Mabel felt his soft exhale more than she heard it, but her chest clenched at the way it shuddered out, like he'd been holding it for far too long. She knew how that felt, and she moved to smooth kisses over his cheeks, his forehead, and his nose. When she reached his mouth again, he pulled back abruptly, and she blinked at him in surprise.

Alfie gazed at her intently, taking her by the chin and drawing her in. She expected him to kiss her properly, but instead, she found his shaggy head tucked under her jaw, his hand cupping her cheek. His breath tickled as he breathed out, but she smiled. She stroked his back, slowly, down his arms and back up. She had missed him so. She had missed his warmth and his presence, his voice and his touches, and it seemed she wasn't the only one. Slowly, she dropped to her knee in front of him, his ancient chair creaking as he leant back.

"Alfie," she murmured, her voice soft. "Let me take care of you."

He said nothing, but his bright eyes watched her as she ran her hands over his chest, and pushed his shirt front up. When her fingers rested at the top button of his trousers, his eyes fluttered shut and Mabel watched him swallow, hard.

She caught her smile with her teeth and began to unfasten him. Button by button, she shifted cloth out of the way until she reached bare flesh. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and her mouth watered as she drew him out, loving the soft velvet of his skin and the heady musk of his scent. She started with the lightest of touches, skimming her fingers over his length and listening for the hitch in his breath. Then she swept her lips over him, dropping kisses and then tiny licks up and down him. When she finally fitted her lips over the crown, Alfie groaned deep in his chest and shifted. He slid down in his chair, giving her better access and spread his knees further.

Mabel met his eyes from her position on the floor and liked the heat she saw there. He watched her, his mouth open slightly, his breath coming faster as she opened her lips, little by little, keeping her tongue flat and taking in more and more of him. She rounded out her throat, sliding him just that little bit further, making her eyes water and making Alfie curse as he curled his fingers into her arms.

"Fuck," he breathed, "you are so perfect. That feels amazing."

Mabel pulled back, sucking in air and using her hand to spread the saliva over his length and when she started again, she used her hand to meet her mouth, adding a twist that made Alfie's hips buck up unintentionally. Soft curses rained down every time she switched her technique, fast to slow, deep to shallow, licks to sucks. When she pulled off completely to blow a thin stream of cool air over him, Alfie lost his mind.

"Holy God damn Mabe, you're fucking killing me," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly. Hearing his voice like that made Mabel throb and she looked up at him through her lashes. He was beautiful. He'd had one hand buried in his hair, pulling the strands until they stuck up from his head, his lip was bitten until it was swollen, his panting breath harsh in the otherwise still house. Mabel fixed him with a particularly heated look, and drew one last lick, from base to tip, drawing out a sound from Alfie she would add to her personal favourites. Then she got to work, setting up a rhythm that was brutal and unrelenting, even as Alfie came undone above her.

"God, yes..."

"Just like... ah... so good..."

"Mabe... I'm not... it's been too long..."

"Mabe..."

She slid her fist up and down his shaft, meeting her mouth and pumping him closer and closer to the edge.

"God... MABE!"

At that, she slid her hand inside his trousers to cup his bollocks as she swallowed him down until he hit the back of her throat. And then she _moaned_.

"Ah FUCK!" Alfie shouted at the same time the warm liquid burst across her tongue. Alfie scrambled back, still pulsing, and a final stripe landed across her cheek.

"Oh, God, Mabe... I'm... I didn't mean to make you..."

But he broke off as Mabel nudged forward, fastening her lips around him and licking him clean. When it got to be too much, he pressed on her shoulder until she leant away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes smiling at him.

"You didn't make me do anything."

Her voice was wrecked, but Alfie's eyes were wide with wonder as he leant toward her, cupping her face in his hands. He pressed an out of breath kiss to her lips and then swiped his thumb over her cheek, showing it to her before wiping it on his trouser leg. Alfie flopped, boneless, back in his chair, and said, "That was a good look on you. You should wear me more often."

"Why, Alfie Solomons!" Mabel said, grinning. "How dare you say such a thing. I am a lady." Then she tucked him away and stood, brushing the knee prints out of her skirt.

Alfie snorted, smirking. He accepted her hand up, leaning heavily on her as she groaned and made a big show of hauling him down the hall.

"Ugh, why are you so... oof! ... bloody heavy?"

"Most of it's in my trousers, love," Alfie murmured sleepily.

Mabel's lips twitched as she shifted his weight. "Well, can you lean forward then so you can prop yourself up while I let the dog in?"

"Mmph," he grunted, but she could hear his smile hidden behind his beard.

She ducked from underneath his arm and opened the door to the back garden, where Peaches was waiting not-so-patiently. She jumped and twirled and almost knocked Mabel down in her excitement, her tail thumping against everything.

"Hey, girl! Did you... oof! ... miss me?" Mabel caught her paws as Peaches tried to lick her hands, wrists, anything she could reach. "Goodness, what is it with you two, trying to knock me down? Yes, yes, I missed you too," Mabel muttered, scratching and petting the dog, who could scarcely contain herself. When she stood, she caught Alfie leaning against the wall and looking at her with an odd look on his face. "What?"

Alfie just shook his head and leant forward to grasp her elbow. "Come to bed."

"Yeah, alright," she said in mock exasperation, "I don't know what you think I was doing..."

Alfie was almost able to hide his smile, but he couldn't stop watching her. Later, she felt his eyes on her as she undressed for bed, and she stretched, loving the power his gaze lent her. When they were both under the heavy duvet, Alfie pulled her toward him, curving around behind her and taking deep breaths of her hair.

He would eventually roll away, or she would get too warm and slide to the cool section of the sheets, but that was okay. For now, it felt perfect. She whispered goodnight and he grunted, and as his breathing evened out and his arm around her waist got looser and heavier, she gave in, and let it bloom in her chest. Hope. Her head got muzzier, and even though she wanted the moment to last, just before she fell asleep in Alfie's arms, she thought, " _This. This is the moment I want to live in forever."_


	18. DIY Boss's Orders

Alfie came awake in stages. It was quiet, it was too early. He was sleep-heavy and warm, and he didn't want to get up, but he needed the loo. He groaned and stretched, figuring he could put it off a few more minutes.

That's when he felt the rustle of movement beside him and he was soon smothered in a warm, pliant, female blanket.

"Mmm…" Mabel hummed. "I don't hear anything, so it can't be time to get up yet." She yawned, then burrowed deeper next to him. "What are you doing up?"

Alfie cracked an eyelid and shifted to see her sleepy face. Her brown curls stuck to her cheek, she had pillow lines on her forehead, she was flushed and… and beautiful. He focused on the almost translucent freckles across the bridge of her nose that you couldn't see anytime except this close-up. He wanted to tuck them in his pocket for a rainy day. Alfie felt the urge, no, the _need_ to lean forward and kiss those faint marks, then her pillow lines and cheekbones and lips and neck and collarbones…

"Mmph," Alfie said, rolling away. "Loo."

He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her, and tried to pull himself together. A part of him hated this weakness, this need that she excavated in him. She had said last night that she'd changed. Well, she wasn't the only one.

Alfie felt her fingers on his back, at his waistband, familiar and exciting at the same time, and he forced himself to pull away. She didn't say anything as he left the room, but he could feel her eyes on him as he walked away.

He took his time, facing himself in the mirror and staring down the villain he always saw there. He had long ago come to terms with the evil he brought into the world. He perpetrated corruption and maliciousness, and at the end of the day he sought forgiveness, but he kept doing it. He did it because he had no other path in this world, and he walked the row he was given. In his way, when it was possible, he worked to remove the wickedness he couldn't control and reign in the wrong he could, but it was also self-serving.

He wasn't good. He would never consider himself a good man, not the way Mabel was good. She came to him, pure and wholesome, and he had sullied her, and he didn't deserve her. And yet… when he looked at her, curled next to him, soft and accepting, he wanted nothing more than to take, and take, and take. He wanted to spread her over himself like a balm or an ointment, something to make himself better, and yet the more often he did it, the more he wanted. She opened an unfathomably deep chasm in himself he hadn't known existed previously.

The Alfie in the mirror splashed water on his face and towelled it off, a blank slate that could be concealing a violent and volatile criminal, or, apparently, a whining, needy child.

When he entered the kitchen, Mabel rose from the table, fully dressed and perfectly coiffed, and Alfie felt a sense of loss like he'd missed an opportunity. She pressed a cup of tea in his hands and a kiss to his bearded cheek. When she sat again, he pulled out a chair and sat at the end of the table, watching her add sugar to her own cuppa. She didn't appear upset, or needy, just her normal cheerful self, and Alfie _wanted_. He didn't just want her in his bed, he wanted her in his house, at his table, in his life.

He cleared his throat.

Mabel looked up, her hands pausing in their work as she waited for him to speak.

"Ah…" he fumbled, "I didn't expect you'd be up."

Mabel gave a half shrug, returning to her task. "Turns out Peaches needed the loo too," she grinned.

She waited until he had tea in his mouth before she said, "We need to finish talking about yesterday."

He put his tea down and wiped his moustache with his napkin, waiting.

"You can't do that to me anymore, Alfie. You don't get to decide when I leave. I'm a big girl, I get to decide that."

Her voice was lighthearted, simple. She, very obviously, didn't want to fight, and he didn't either, but his face was sombre when he said, "It's not a safe life, Mabe."

"I know that Alfie, you think I don't know that?" Her hand covered his on the table top. "I'm choosing _you_. And I hope you're choosing me too. We work better together, when we talk and tell each other what's going on. If I'd involved you when I hired Wilma, you'd have made sure she checked out. If you'd have asked me about being pregnant, I could have cleared it up, no stomach churning involved. Well," she amended, "minimal stomach churning."

She tried on a small smile, but it died when Alfie couldn't return it. He sighed, turning his hand over and grasping hers. "I have to do what's best for you. If you were to get pregnant, I can't have you fight me on this. It'd be my responsibility to keep the baby safe, you have to _let me_."

Mabel quieted, thinking. "Can't we decide together what's safe?"

"No."

Alfie's tone brooked no argument and he watched her wince but he couldn't back down, not on this.

It was Mabel's turn to sigh. Alfie waited again. His gut was clenched, but he was determined to keep her from knowing his anxiety right now. He wasn't a bloody adolescent who couldn't separate feelings from reality, and he certainly wasn't going to let Mabel do it either. She needed to decide, right now, if this was a deal breaker for her, and she needed to do it based on what she thought about it, not him.

"So… if I get pregnant, I'm getting shipped off to somewhere else, and I don't get a say in it. That sounds an awful lot like being punished for carrying your child."

Alfie refused to be baited, just sat, his fingers curled around hers, and waited. Mabel sucked on her lip, her eyes staring at their entwined hands.

"And if I refuse?"

He blinked. "Refuse what, exactly?"

Mabel looked at him, her eyes steady and determined. "Look, I don't like this. I don't like the, "You'll do what I tell you, when I tell you, and I don't care what you want." That's not what I signed up for. I understand you wanting to keep me… us… safe, but to what end?"

"To the end where you don't get killed, obviously." Alfie's patience was starting to wear down.

His wasn't the only one, apparently, as Mabel's voice rose, her fingers gripping his. "Fine, but at what cost? So your son can grow up without a father? Or your daughter can live a life in hiding?" Mabel shook his hand, looking like she really wanted to shake him instead. "Do you really expect me to never see you again? That's a pretty big consequence for something I can't entirely control."

Alfie thought for a moment, letting them both calm down. He removed his hand from hers and took a long drink. Finally, he set the cup down, wiped his lips and threw the napkin on the table.

"If I admit that you might have a point," Alfie said, "can you at least admit that I might have a point as well?"

Mabel beamed at him, joy radiating from her face, and he decided conceding to Mabel in the future might not always be a bad thing. Not if she looked at him like that.

"Mmph," he grunted as she grabbed his hand again, stilling her. "I'm going to tell you a story, so you understand."

She sobered, and nodded. "Okay," she said, but she kept his hand in hers.

Alfie told Mabel about Tommy Shelby, Grace Shelby, and their baby boy. He explained that after Grace died, their son had been kidnapped. Tommy turned the entire Russian mafia inside out so he could get his boy back, and even though it had cost Alfie dearly, he eventually told Tommy he didn't have anything to do with it. He didn't want him to think that of him, not with the devastation that had been etched into Tommy's face.

"I don't think I could do it, Mabe," Alfie said. "I think if that had been my son, I'd have lost my fucking mind. I can't…"

Alfie couldn't articulate it, but thank God, Mabel understood. He could see it in her face.

"Okay," she said, her voice thick. "Okay. I understand. But, Alfie," she said, forcing him to meet her eyes, "sending me… _us_ away isn't really a fool-proof solution either. So many things could go wrong, and you wouldn't be there to protect us."

Alfie's lips thinned, but Mabel rushed in again.

"I'm not saying I won't go!" she said, and Alfie felt his gut unclench. "I'm just saying that I won't stay away forever. And IF the scenario we are talking about actually comes to pass, you and I will think of something. Okay?"

Her face was hesitant and, he realised, fearful.

"Don't push me away," she whispered.

He sat up straight and used their joined hands to pull her to standing. He tugged her towards him until he could pull her down for a kiss, pretending he didn't notice the slightly desperate edge the kiss shared or the wetness on Mabel's cheeks. He did, however, pull her into his lap and kiss her some more.

* * *

Alfie was reading the paper in his favourite chair next to a roaring fire and feeling, for the first time in he couldn't remember how long, content. It was almost odd in its normality. He closed his eyes, to soak in the simplicity, quiet, and peace.

"Fuck," Mabel muttered.

He glanced over to the couch, where she sat tugging stitches out of her knitting and muttering under her breath. Her fingers were getting more and more frustrated and before she could throw the whole mess in the bin, Alfie decided he'd better intervene.

"Billy Hill is a problem," Alfie said, still staring at his paper.

Mabel was quiet for a tick, then, "Oh?"

"Mmph."

"How's that, then?"

Alfie shrugged a shoulder. "He's the kind of guy that kidnaps children and poisons girlfriends. I need to take him out."

He could practically hear Mabel thinking. "Oh. So, what's the problem, again?"

Alfie ruffled the paper he was hiding behind. "Can't exactly have it come back to me now, can I?"

He waited to hear what she thought but nothing came over the top of the paper. Alfie folded down the edge of the page to glance at her and found her staring back at him.

"What are you doing?" she accused him.

"Uh," he said, folding up the paper, "talking?"

Mabel blinked and then looked embarrassed. "Oh." She busied her hands again, plucking at stitches and Alfie watched her, curious.

"What are you doing?"

Mabel gave a half-laugh, half-sigh and bundled the knitting off her lap. "I don't know." She gave him a weak smile. "Proving that I really can't knit, even if I don't have my mother hovering over me."

Alfie grunted, then moved to pick up his paper again, but Mabel stopped him.

"So, tell me about Billy Hill? He needs to be gone, but you can't be seen doing it? Why not? You've taken out enemies before."

It was Alfie's turn to half-sigh. "Not exactly an enemy anymore. I made a splashy show of joining up with him, so I could get closer and find out what he was up to. Now, I can't remove him without blacklisting myself."

"Are you sure that would happen?"

Alfie thought of his first impressions of the Peaky Blinders and Tommy double-crossing Billy Kimber. That reputation had followed him for a long time.

"Oh yeah," he said, "quite sure."

Mabel thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Why don't you just go to his boss."

Alfie looked at her. "His boss?"

"Yes, dear, everyone has a boss."

Alfie frowned. "I don't have a boss," he muttered.

Mabel gave him a knowing look and he frowned harder. She rose from the sofa, stretched, and said, "Come to bed."

Mabel raised an eyebrow in a challenge and he tried his damnedest to scowl at her, but he just couldn't do it. He closed his eyes, shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Billy Hill didn't have a boss, per se, but you didn't get where he was at his age without help. Alfie found Billy's mentor easily enough and invited himself to an impromptu meeting. Gangsters hated it when you did that.

Alfie sat across from the older gentleman, looking for all the world like he was in his own office, granting a meeting with this man out of the goodness of his heart. The man didn't appear to appreciate it.

"I tell you what, I'm gonna be honest with you," Alfie said, leaning forward. "Because you remind me of my father, God rest his soul, and he would want me to be honest with you." Alfie twirled his cane on the floor. "Truth is," he whispered conspiratorially, and as he leant further toward him, with a lightning bolt of clarity, Alfie realised that the man in front of him didn't remind him of his father. He reminded him of himself. Alfie looked down at himself, his "business" clothes that he wore when he meant business, and the contrasting sharp suit in front of him. They were different men, it was true. Very different. But, in their comparative positions, very much equal. What would Alfie want to hear in his position? "Truth is... " and the words Alfie had mentally prepared on his way over died on his tongue. The cajoling, the veiled threats, the sarcastic hints at violence, surely all anticipated by the suit in front of him, but in the end, he'd probably already made up his mind, and it didn't have anything to do with what Alfie would say next. It was about self-preservation and the safeguarding of what he'd spent a lifetime building. He would do what it took to protect it, and of all the men who could be sitting across from him, Alfie understood that.

Alfie shifted in his seat, and he could feel Abe next to him tense. "Truth is, mate, I could run your man into the ground, I really could. And I have sat in your chair and done the calculations you're doing, and we both know that it would be detrimental to my business, and I might have to cash in a few favours, but I could do it if I really wanted. And you've got to make a choice, right? Fucking war, or fucking peace. So I'm gonna talk plain. I don't want your shipping business, mate."

The man in front of him didn't shift or blink, just stared at Alfie and waited.

"What I want, is I want to run my business, and I want you to run your business, and we each go about our merry fucking way, right? What I want is…"

And Alfie sighed and ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling every day of his age. He sat back in his chair and looked at the man in front of him.

"Look, mate. I've got people, right? People I'm responsible for, people I protect, with my dirty little bit 'o' crime and my dirty little corner of the world. And you do too. We protect our own, am I right? Because the good Lord above knows that no one else is doing it for us. And Billy fucking Hill doesn't get that. He's a fucking lunatic, mate. He's dangerous, untrustworthy, and uncooperative. He talks about kidnapping children and killing people's wives for fuck's sake!"

Alfie could hear the passion in his tone, and for good or ill, he let it ride. He didn't know the man in front of him, he didn't care to. He didn't know if this was falling on deaf ears, but if he didn't try, then the only option was to take him out and lose the men along the way. He didn't want that.

He leant forward again, elbows on his knees. "I said I'd talk plain, and here it is. I'll make you a deal. Either you get rid of him and send a replacement, or I'll get rid of him and you'll still have to send a replacement, except you could lose your shipping business in the meantime. Because I want what I want, and if I can't go through you, I will go right the fuck over you."

The man in front of him was still gazing calmly at Alfie, and now that he'd said his piece, he folded his hands across his blotter on his desk, straightened a piece of paper, and licked his lips.

"Well, Mr Solomons. You are not at all like I'd been lead to believe you would be."

Alfie wasn't sure what to say to that, and so he said nothing.

The gentleman reached under his desktop and withdrew the pistol Alfie had assumed was there, setting it casually on the desk. Abe next to him opened his jacket to give him better access to the pistol he carried in the holster, and let the man see him do it.

He nodded. "Mr Solomons," he said, "you claim 'you want what you want'. Before you came in here today, I'd assumed that was to take over the business you've been trying to break into without success. Now, however, I'm less sure. Can you explain to me exactly what it is you do want?"

Alfie wanted to live in a world where he wouldn't have to send Mabel up the river if he accidentally impregnated her, but he obviously couldn't say that here. He scratched his beard. "'M trying to expand my business, obviously. I was willing to go through the proper channels, pay your man his due, let both of us make money. However, Hill had no interest in that, preferred to play games and try to pit gangs against one another. You are only going to make enemies in this town if you can't work with people at the very least when it benefits you."

He seemed to be considering, his eyes tightening at the corners as he studied Alfie. "And you do know that I can't just be sending you someone else every time you don't get your way. We aren't children, after all."

Alfie nodded once, his eyes trained on the impassive face in front of him. "We most definitely are not,' he agreed. "However, if Billy Hill was in my employ, I would want to know what he was doing. If you knew and you approve, well, then this was a friendly visit to inform you that I will destroy myself to take you down. I won't have my people live in a city where they are being made unsafe because of my associations. The Jews in London have enough to deal with."

"And outside of it, if I understand correctly."

Alfie's face darkened and he nodded again, once. He had heard rumours… well, that was neither here nor there. He had to deal with what was in front of him, now. All else could wait.

"Very well, Mr Solomons. Consider your request granted. Please keep in mind that today's interactions are no indication of a future working relationship, and I look forward to the income you have promised to provide."

Alfie gritted his teeth, swallowing every snarky comment that came to his lips before standing. Well, almost every comment. "You know I don't normally make "requests" as you put it. I make demands. And they get obeyed. I'm sure you know the feeling."

The man stood also, facing Alfie. He stared back, saying nothing. But he held out his hand, and Alfie, after a second's hesitation, took it.

" _Sholom_ , Mr Solomons."

Alfie's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Mmph. _Sholom_."


	19. DIY Happily Ever Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, this is it! Almost a year to the day that I started this crazy story, my first ever fanfic (my first ever anything, really), and I can't believe the outpouring of love and kind comments that I've seen on this site. You guys sure know how to make a girl feel good.
> 
> Extra special thanks to my toiling and put-upon beta, Lystan, to whom I am forever grateful for getting me into the quicksand that is fanfiction, and then encouraging me, supporting me, and kicking me in the butt as I wrote my own.
> 
> If you've read this story all the way up to here, just know that you're my favorite person ever. Yes, you. Drop me a line sometime, I'm nice! Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy!

 

Mabel stepped through the creaky wooden doors of the bakery, looked over the poorly lit floor and felt like she was coming home. The first breath in through her nose told her most of what she needed to know, but she owed it to the place and her employees to re-familiarize herself. She set off down the hallway and gave a small sigh of relief when she saw Harold at his post.

" _Guten Morgen_ ," she greeted him, and he smiled. He gave her the status report she asked for, told her a bawdy joke, and blinked when she asked him what she could get that would make his job easier. He laughed and told her he'd have to think about it but he'd let her know.

She made the rounds, stopping in with each area, and asked them the same questions, and checked to see if they'd heard Harold's latest joke. It was good to see the crew and hear their stories, ask about their kids. Mabel promised herself she would make it a point to walk the floor regularly.

Which was why Mabel was so annoyed when her good mood plummeted to icy black. As she rounded the corner to her office, she noticed that the door was shut, when she had specifically left it open. Mabel tapped the holster hidden on her thigh, debating.

When she finally turned the handle, it was with the small, ivory handled revolver still snug in its holster. It wouldn't necessarily make her feel more powerful, only more obvious, and she wasn't sure how this conversation would go. She wasn't sure Wilma had realised she'd been found out yet. She wrestled with the notion of actually shooting the woman whom she'd considered her friend and then scowled. However this conversation went, she was not going to feel guilty about Wilma Fitzgerald.

She regretted it as soon as the door swung open. Wilma was not working or waiting for her in her office. Sitting in her chair with his feet crossed at the ankle, cool as you please, sat a dark haired, olive skinned man she'd never seen before. He had his own pistol in one hand, and as she entered, he stubbed out the cigarette he'd been smoking with the other. The pistol was steady in his hand, unwavering, definitely a threat, but not pointed at her. She might have understood a pistol pointed at her, hell, she'd decided multiple times over that she was okay with being a target. But the pistol wasn't targeting her, it was pointed at the ground at the man's feet. And sitting at his feet, staring up at him with her tongue lolling, was Peaches.

It happened in a second, because it couldn't have taken longer, she could _not_ have just stood there, powerless and flabbergasted for far too long, staring at a man who was threatening her _dog._ When she finally moved, though, it was flawless. She pushed aside her bulky skirts, withdrew the gun the way she'd practised so many times, and pointed it between the man's eyes.

His slicked back hair and teeth gleamed in the lamplight when he smiled at her. His hand stayed where it was, and Peaches would have come to her, except the man twisted his hand in her collar to hold her there.

The only sound in the room was Peaches's hot breathing and loud swallows as she strained against the tight hold on her collar.

The man with the oiled-back hair sneered a smile at her. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"No," Mabel clipped out. "And I don't care. You're pointing a gun at my dog."

He smirked. "So I am."

He seemed disinclined to continue the conversation, but Mabel could feel her arms getting weaker already from holding the gun up like this. She knew she needed to move this along because she refused to back down because her arms were tired.

"So stop it, and we can both go home," she said, her teeth gritted.

And the asshole actually chuckled. "Now why would I want that?"

"What _do_ you want?" she asked, her voice snippy and she tried to hold on to her anger.

He began to obscenely pet Peaches' head with the gun, stroking it over her short fur, the cold metal looked distasteful against her soft ears. "My name is Billy Hill."

Mabel froze, her eyes flitting up from where she was watching him pet her oblivious dog and locking onto his cold, brown, and slightly dilated eyes.

"Ah, so you do know me. Well, that'll save us some time."

Mabel readjusted her grip on the pistol and said, "Let her go. Please, she didn't do anything."

"And again. Why would I want to do that?"

"So you don't get shot!" she yelled, her fear bleeding into her words and making her hands tremble, just a bit. She immediately took a breath, trying to calm herself.

Billy Hill tsked and shook his head at her. "Oh, sweetheart, we both know you're not going to shoot me." The condescension in his tone was grating, and Mabel felt herself still, her stubborn streak making her narrow her eyes at the man.

"The gun in my hand says otherwise, Mr Hill."

And the man in the ridiculously expensive suit, the one with the gun pointed at him, actually snorted. "Oh, sweetheart. You might as well put that down now because I know that even if I do this…"

And he pointed his gun at Peaches and pulled the trigger. The shot that rang out in the small room was deafening, so Mabel didn't hear her own scream. She froze, her eyes riveted on the small, crumpled body in front of her, a mangled mess of fur and blood and she would see it in her mind's eye forever. A small, strangled noise worked its way out of her throat and she couldn't tear her gaze away.

"See?" Billy Hill chuckled, the curl of smoke still rising from his gun. "If you were really going to do something, if you actually had the bollocks to shoot me, then you'd have done it by-"

But he didn't get to finish because Mabel swung the gun that she'd lowered to her side into his face and pulled the trigger. The wall behind her desk spattered with blood as the left side of his head exploded and Mabel's knees started to buckle.

She registered somewhere the door to her office flying open and no less than five men flooding in, drawn by the sound of gunfire, but it was like she was watching it happen to someone else.

"Boss? Boss!"

"What the hell?"

"Fuck, holy fuck."

"Somebody catch her, she's…"

"We gottcha, we gottcha, Boss, it's alright. Just breathe."

Mabel couldn't remember the last time she'd breathed, and decided it was a good idea. She drew in a shuddering breath and then another. Strong arms were keeping her from slumping to the floor and someone lead her to a chair where her knees promptly gave out.

"Fuckin' hell. What the hell happened, Boss?"

She dimly watched someone pry the gun from her fingers and set it on the desk. Someone else was standing between her and Peaches' body, but she could still see it. She'd always be able to see it.

"Billy Hill," she said, her voice faint and far away, "Shot my dog."

There were more words, and someone said Alfie's name, and then someone else said Mabel's name, her real name, and she tried to blink away the image of two bodies lying in front of her, one with his legs still oddly crossed at the ankle and one who used to fit behind the curve of her knees. Whose large square head would always find her hand when she needed it most, and whose wide tongue would lick her fingers whenever she came in the door. One who would carry one of Alfie's shoes in her mouth from place to place when he was gone for long periods, and one who would fetch the bundle of rags they'd twisted together for her endlessly.

Mabel had been moved to a different room, but it didn't matter. She still saw them.

"Mabe?"

The rough, familiar baritone finally cracked the haze and she blinked into Alfie's blue eyes.

"Oh," she breathed, and little things started to filter in. Alfie's hand was on her cheek, he was kneeling in front of her. She was sitting in a chair. She had blood on her dress. She would have to throw it away. She didn't like this dress anyway. She was in the warehouse, but she didn't remember coming down the stairs. But she must have because here she was. She worried for a moment that one of her crew had carried her, like a baby, and she frowned.

"Mabel," Alfie prompted again, and she looked at him. There was concern in his eyes, fear and worry, and the creases it made in his forehead were beautiful. They were. She wanted to run her thumb over them, but she couldn't get her arm to cooperate.

"Can you hear me?"

His voice was beautiful too. She wondered if she'd ever told him that. She needed to. She needed to tell him every day, so he wouldn't ever wonder that she didn't know. Because of course she knew. She was the resident expert on Alfie.

"Mabel!" he said, his voice a little too loud and his fingers wrapped around her arms, shaking her and biting a little too hard, and she felt the sting of tears at her eyes.

"He killed her, she's gone" she said brokenly, and then the tears came, hot and silent, coursing down her cheeks like a curse.

"I know," Alfie said, his voice and his fingers gentle again.

"I shot him. I shot him and he's dead. I…" Mabel blinked, her eyelids creaking shut and back open. "I killed him," she said, her voice strangled. "I don't even… I just…"

"I know," Alfie said again. "'S alright, love, I know."

"You need me," Mabel blurted, and Alfie's face changed from concerned care to confusion. Mabel's arms finally worked when she told them to come up to cup his jaw and she made careful note of the way the coarse hairs felt under her fingertips. "You feel this way every time too, don't you?" It wasn't a question, per se, just an observation. "I know you do, and Lord knows, I need you right now. So I know you need me."

Alfie was quiet, then he tipped his head against hers, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "I do," he muttered.

After that, it was even more of a blur. The police showed up, taking statements from everyone which consisted of mostly grunts and glares. Alfie did most of the talking, which was interesting as he hadn't been on the grounds when it happened. Mabel gave a short version of the story before Alfie positioned himself between her and the officers and said that she needed to go home. One officer was either brave enough or stupid enough to tell Alfie he was wrong, and that Mabel would be spending the night in jail until a judge said otherwise, and Alfie lost his mind.

He ranted and raved, spittle flying from his mouth and the scent of the officers' sweat mixing with the smell of rum, until Mabel, stomach churning, placed a hand on his arm.

"Alfie? Can you take me home? Please?"

Alfie stopped mid-sentence, nodded at her and said, "Sure, love. Just let me finish up here."

It took a few more phone calls and a few more police officers, but eventually Alfie convinced them to release Mabel into his care and he steered her towards the car and his house.

The door had been kicked open and Alfie had to force it closed again, cursing and fuming. Mabel watched him, a niggle in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something, and she almost lost it when she realised it was to feed Peaches and let her out.

She must have made some kind of sound because Alfie turned with a worried look. She shook her head, but he came to her anyway, and she sagged into his arms. He didn't say anything, just let her cry, really cry, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and her tears soaking his shirt.

When she was through, he wiped his own face, then kissed her forehead too hard and steered her to the bathroom.

Mabel filled the sink with warm water and was quiet while Alfie unpinned her hair. He took a flannel, wiped her face, neck and hands, rinsed it, and let the rust coloured water down the drain. Then he refilled it, and Mabel washed his face too, wiping the beloved wrinkles on his forehead, the crinkles by his eyes, the bridge of his strong nose. When she rang out the cloth, the same rust coloured water appeared and Mabel froze, not understanding.

"Alfie, what-"

"It was a long day. I'll explain tomorrow," he said gently.

Mabel frowned. "I'd rather know now if it's all the same."

He sighed, taking the cloth from her and hanging it to dry. "Wilma," was all he said, and Mabel didn't know how to feel.

"Is she dead?" Her voice sounded wooden.

Alfie turned to face her. "Yes." His voice was unapologetic, firm, sure.

When she said, "Good," hers was too.

Alfie frowned and nodded, understanding and not judging. He led her to the bedroom with his hand on the small of her back, and undressed her, slow and careful, her dress turned inside out and placed outside the door. He brushed her hands away when she fumbled for his trousers and instead tugged one of his old shirts over her head and Mabel fought down the ridiculous urge to cry again. She fed her arms through the sleeves, and Alfie carefully lifted her hair out of the collar. She gave him a wobbly smile and he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. His face was fierce and intense, like he was memorising her and she closed her eyes. She didn't want to think anymore. She wanted Alfie to overwhelm her, take over each of her senses one by one and drive out anything that wasn't him, right now, in this moment.

"Alfie," she whispered against his thumb. "I need you."

He understood, thank God, and then they didn't need words. He made love to her slowly, purposefully, each press of his wide fingers into her skin and each swipe of his lips felt deliberate and exact. He took his time, and when she finally tipped over the edge, gasping and shuddering around him, it was almost like an afterthought. He kissed away the tears that leaked from her eyes, gathered her to him and seemed to understand her need to clutch him closer, press against him harder.

She fell asleep that way, his breath in her face, without an inch between them.

When she woke, the sun was high on her pillow, the birdsong sweet in the late morning air, and Alfie warm at her back. She felt… okay, actually. She would make it through this. This wasn't the end, not of her, and not of this life she'd built.

Mabel stretched, feeling the delicious pull all the way to the tips of her toes and she turned to see Alfie's blue eyes staring at her. She met his gaze and smiled, wistful and soft, but faltered when he didn't smile back. He just stared at her, his face intense and serious. She cocked her head in a question.

"Stay," was all he said, his voice husky from sleep, but strong in its conviction.

She smiled at him again, this time small and confused. "Okay," she replied, turning in his arms to face him and tangling her legs with his.

He didn't drop her gaze, pulling back so he could face her. "Stay forever," he said.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. At first, she didn't think Alfie knew what he was saying, but then she realised that, of course, he knew exactly what he was saying. This was Alfie at his most vulnerable, laid bare in a way lack of clothing could do no justice. He was asking her for something that she didn't think he'd ever ask for. But he had. She could see in his face how much he wanted it, the lines of his body, the way he held himself so carefully-just a hair's breadth away from her in case she decided to flee, then he wouldn't force her to stay. He was being so cautious, like he'd been thinking about saying this for hours, waiting for her to wake up, but terrified of how she'd respond.

"Okay," she said again. She said it lightly, like it wasn't a tectonic shift under her feet. Mabel pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then tugged his arm around her so she could cuddle close and tuck her head under his scruffy chin. He let her jostle him into place, drawing her arm around him and getting more comfortable. When they both finally settled again, her with a deep sigh and him with a softer one through his nose and pressing into her scalp, she could feel the way he'd relaxed. She smiled into his neck where she'd pressed her face.

She was happy, she realised. With all the shite, with everything bad that had happened, she _could_ live in this moment forever, if she wanted. She could wake up to this every day and come home to it at night. She could be angry and happy and sad with him and he would see her and hear her and know her like no one before or since. Because when she was with him, she was a truer version of herself than she could ever be with anyone else. And he let her see him, sides of himself she wasn't sure if anyone else ever got to see. Ever. Like now, when he was smelling and kissing the top of her head, trying to get his emotions under control, and she was letting him, giving him a chance to compose himself.

"Mmph," he cleared his throat, "I suppose you'll want the whole thing, now, mmm? Ring and chuppah and Mozel Tov, etc.?"

She let it hang for a moment, then she shrugged one shoulder and answered honestly. "I think I always believed that I _had_ to want the whole thing." He said nothing, but started drawing circles on her back with his fingertips, calming her, so she continued. "I mean, I wouldn't say no to you, but only because I want this, what we have. I don't want it to end." She squeezed him gently. "I didn't think _you'd_ want the whole thing, actually. Do you?"

He cleared his throat again. "No… " he started.

"Me either," she said with finality.

Alfie pulled back again to look her in the eye, pulling her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "But I would for you," he said, his lips a thin line of seriousness.

Mabel gave him a fond smile. "I would for you too."

His intelligent eyes scanned her face, thinking hard. Then he nodded, once, and she could see the edge of his mouth ghost up into a half smile. She grinned at him and tried to kiss him around her smile.

"Promise me something?" she whispered against his lips.

"Mmph."

"If I ever change my mind and decide that _is_ what I want... promise me I can ask you and you'll say yes."

Alfie let out a soft snort and she could practically hear his eye roll even though she was kissing along his scruffy jawline and tugging him even closer.

"That's not how it works, woman."

"No?" she teased, lips against his neck as he rubbed her back. "But if you change your mind and you ask me, I promise _I'll_ say yes."

Alfie sat up without warning and suddenly he was over her, his warm bulk held up by his solid arms, so he wouldn't crush her. He hovered there, his eyes sharp on hers, before he whispered, "Witch."

Then he kissed her breathless and she didn't care about the next 40 years, or even the next 40 weeks. But she was plenty interested in the next 40 minutes. Alfie had taught her that she could live in any moment she chose, drag it out, stretch it to meet her needs, and then move on to the next moment she wanted to live in. When she was with him, she was a master of her own time, her own fate. He made her feel powerful, beautiful, and in control. Who wouldn't want that? There were no guarantees in life, and she didn't want Alfie to give her fake ones. She didn't need all the trappings she'd been told all her life she should want. All she needed was him, and the moments of her choosing in which to live.

_"This one... I choose this moment. And this one... and this one... and this one..."_

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a [Pinterest board!](https://www.pinterest.de/deinvati/diy-success/)


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